


The Last Free Place

by O4amuse



Series: Not Wrong, Just Different [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Anal Sex, BAMF Sam Winchester, Bigotry & Prejudice, Bisexuality is basically standard, Bottom Dean, Canonical Character Death, Doctor Castiel, First Kiss, First Time, Gabriel Being Gabriel, Happy Ending, Hellhounds, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, John Wyndham, M/M, Mutants, POV Dean Winchester, Post-Apocalypse, Praise Kink, Protective Dean Winchester, Purgatory, Self-Harm, Slow Build, Team Free Will, The Chrysalids, Top Castiel, radiation poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-09-06 23:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 33
Words: 38,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8773012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/O4amuse/pseuds/O4amuse
Summary: In the radioactive fall-out of nuclear war, people are changing. Communities struggle to hang on to normality by banishing the strange, or hunting them down.Dean and Sam Winchester are hunters and protectors of Lawrence (what’s left of it). But Dean knows Sam’s hiding his differences, and does everything he can to shield his little brother. Even throw others under the bus. Until one day the two of them encounter a man with bright blue eyes and the ability to heal by touch. And suddenly Dean finds himself with two people to protect.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title based on the song 'Cannon' by Arstidir:
> 
> Sharing body heat when it was cold  
> Letting go when we wanted to be held  
> United by thoughts we could not understand
> 
> Wounded by the light of a soaring fireball  
> With cool hearts racing within  
> Your last touch is still on my skin
> 
> In the last free place  
> In the presence of your grace

Dean hated himself for throwing Anna to the mob. He tried to justify it, telling himself her dreams and drawings would’ve attracted attention eventually anyway. Normal people didn’t dream like that. Normal people didn’t speak of voices in the air, or frantically scribble out many-coloured pictures of places only other people had seen. The Elders would have noticed her sooner or later. It didn’t take Dean’s hint - oh so casually worded in the bar, wasn’t it funny how she always seemed to know things - to bring the wrath of Normality down on her head. It wasn’t his fault.

He knew that was a lie. 

As they dragged her into the hall, he felt the sick weight of guilt wrap its tentacles around his throat. Her fearful eyes, so wide and innocent, caught his as she stumbled past him. He could feel the fear running up her spine, a knife-edge of cold, following the same paths his fingertips had traced only days before. Her skin had been warm then, so soft beneath his wondering palms, her glorious hair scattered like ruddy threads over the ground as he moved above her. Maybe even now, he could still save her. Hunters had status, he could make them listen.

  “Dean,” Sam whispered urgently at his shoulder, shifting agitatedly. “You have to stop them. You know she isn’t evil.”

  He bit his tongue until the metallic tang of blood sprang sharp into his mouth, and pushed his brother back into the crowd. “Shut it, Sammy.”  _ Shut it before they come for you. _

Because he did know. Anna saw things, heard things, that weren’t there or only existed in the heads of others, but she couldn’t move objects without her hands any more than he could. Any more than any Normal could. 

Sam could. 

The Elders sat straight in their chairs at the end of the hall, looking up at the frail girl trembling in front of them. John Winchester was two from the end, eyes dark under his heavy brows. He didn’t know his oldest son and Anna had been lovers and it wouldn’t have made any difference if he had known. Elder John was devout, his faith as inflexible as iron, and where his faith led his fists followed.

  “Anna Milton,” Elder Gordon Walker said loudly from the central chair, “you stand accused of Blasphemy. Do you have anything to say in your defence?”

  She swallowed, a tear sliding down her pale cheek. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You can see into the minds of others and hear their thoughts. This is a crime against God.”

  “I don’t want to, I can’t help it, please…”

  Elder John leaned forward. “You admit you’re different.”

  “I…” She drew a shaky breath, gulping back tears.

Different was dangerous, corrupted, poison. It was a Blasphemy against God and a reminder that the world was not as it had been. A murmur went through the watching crowd, faces narrowing against Anna. 

  Elder Bobby Singer sighed, his tired eyes kinder than the rest. “Humanity prevails through purity. Your Blasphemy risks a second time of Tribulation. Would you bring that down upon our heads, Anna?” 

  “N...n...no…”

Elder Gordon stood, ponderous in his judgment, and Sam pushed urgently at Dean’s shoulder again. He rammed his elbow back, hard, and Sam’s breath puffed out past his ear. 

_   Shut it, Sammy, don’t make my sacrifice of her for nothing. _

  “Anna Milton, a choice lies before you,” Elder Gordon intoned. You may be put to sleep, or sterilised and exiled.”

It wasn’t a choice, not really. Exile was just a slower death, everyone knew that. Outside the walls of Lawrence lay corrupted, poisonous lands and wild animals twisted out of their natural shape. There was no cultivated food, no shelter, only the ruins left by the War of Tribulation. Dean saw it every day. He was one of the brave (the word tore, sharp-edged, in his mind) that ventured out to hunt for meat and threatening predators. Anna didn’t stand a chance.

Abruptly he couldn’t bear it. He turned and pushed his way out of the hall, Sam at his heels as always, until he stumbled into fresh air. A pulse pounded in his ears, deafening and nauseous. He dragged in a deep, hot breath and blinked up at the blue sky. 

  “I’m sorry.” Sam laid a large hand on his shoulder. “I know you guys were close.”

  Dean didn’t answer; couldn’t.

  Sam pressed in, lowering his voice. “We could get her out. They’ll take her to the Cage first, you know they will. We could save her.”

  “Yeah.” Dean forced himself to speak past the nails in his throat. “Then what? Keep her hid in the cellar forever? Pack her off into the wilds? That ain’t a kindness, Sam. And if we get caught busting her out, what d’you think they’ll do to us, huh?”  _ To you? _

There was a bustle of movement behind them and Dean dragged Sam aside as Anna was marched from the hall inside a moving cage of people. She caught his eye again as they passed and - it nearly brought him to his knees - she smiled. Her eyes flickered to Sam and back. Dean couldn’t breathe, his whole core on fire with shame and guilt and grief. He sagged under Sam’s hand and his brother held him up with a soft noise of surprise. They watched together as Anna was led away towards the slaughterhouse. Then Dean shrugged himself free and went in search of alcohol.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam found him in the stable block after dark, slumped against the wall of Impala’s stall with a half-empty bottle of moonshine in his hand. The black mare whickered softly in greeting as Sam joined him on the floor. They sat in silence for a while, then Sam took the bottle out of Dean’s hand and raised it to his lips.

  “It was an accident,” he said, and drank deep.

  “What was?”

  “Moving Jo’s knife.”

  “Dunno what you’re talking abuot,” Dean said tiredly.

  “Then why did you shop Anna to the Elders?” Sam snapped. “Because she was different? Because she was a Blasphemy? When’re you gonna hand me over, Dean?”

  Dean was up on his knees with a hand clapped over his brother’s mouth before Sam had time to react. He pushed Sam’s head back against the stable wall roughly and leaned in close. “Don’t you ever say that,” he growled. “Not ever. What if someone heard you?”

  Sam grasped his wrist in strong fingers and pulled it away. His fox eyes were sorrowful in the dim light. “You shouldn’t have done it,” he said quietly.

  “You’re my brother.”

  “And she was your friend.”

  Dean slumped as the hot flash of emotion drained from his muscles. “I know. But I won’t let ‘em have you, Sammy. It ain’t in me.”

  “How do you think that makes me feel?” Sam pushed his shaggy hair back with a jerky motion. “I don’t want people dying for me. I’m not worth it.”

  “So get things under control. No more moving shit with your mind, you hear? No more freaky dreams.”

  Sam raised the bottle sarcastically. “Sure, I can totally control my dreams.”

  “You know what I mean, Sammy. You can’t talk about ‘em, not even to Jess.”

  “What? Jess isn’t… we aren’t…”

  Dean forced a grin and ruffled his brother’s hair, trying to lighten the mood. “Oh, so that wasn’t Jess I saw you kissing behind the oak tree last week?”

  “Shut up, jerk.” Sam scowled and ducked away.

  “Whatever, bitch. Come on, we should get back. Dad’ll be home soon.”

Dean got to his feet and hauled Sam upright, balancing himself against the familiar weight of his brother. The raw hurt of Anna’s betrayal eased a little as he brushed the straw off Sam’s shirt briskly. This life - this clever, snarky, warm-hearted boy of his - was worth any pain. Ever since the day his mother died in childbirth, and the baby was put into his tiny arms to carry out of the room, Dean had known his little brother was worth dying for. If he had to give up other people’s lives as well as his own, well, that was a price he was willing to pay.

They patted Impala goodbye and headed outside. The moon was hanging low on the horizon, full and yellow, spiked at the bottom by pine tree silhouettes. Sam dug his hands deep into his pockets as they walked, and nodded towards the forest. 

  “Bobby said there’s rumours of a settlement of exiles in there somewhere.”

  “According to who, the folks over in Topeka? He oughta know better’n to trust those gossips.”

  Sam shrugged. “It makes sense, though. Best way to survive is in a group.”

  Dean gave him a sharp look. “You ain’t thinking of going looking?”

  “I’m not an idiot, Dean. Besides, if Gordon gets his way we’ll all be going. He wants to send a hunt out.”

  “What the hell for? They’re banished already, they made their choice.”

  “I think he’s scared of a revolution. What if they all come knocking at the gate one day?”

  “Shit.” Dean pulled a hand over his mouth. “Okay, I’ll talk to Dad.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “C’mon, Sam, don’t be like that. Just because the man likes an occasional drink…”

  “It’s not an occasional drink, Dean!” Sam ran a hand through his hair frustratedly. “He’s a mess and you know it. If he keeps hunting under the influence he’s going to get someone killed. He’s a miracle he’s still on the Council of Elders.”

  “What he went through during the Tribulation -”

  “Was awful, but the war’s over. It’s been over for more than twenty years. And anyway, Bobby and Ellen went through the exact same crap but you don’t see them drowning their sorrows before midday.”

  “Ellen runs the goddamn bar,” Dean protested.

Sam just raised an eyebrow at him, and he tightened his mouth because it was true. Ellen, Bobby, pretty much all the Elders, they didn’t shy away from a drink. But none of them were nasty with it, and they knew when to stop. John stopped when there was none left. 

They walked the rest of the way home in silence, trudging down the cracked concrete path that ran through the centre of Lawrence and out the other side. The houses on either side were a mix of reclaimed ruins and new wood builds, but the torches lighting the road softened the edges and gave the whole place a warm, homely atmosphere. 

The Winchesters lived by the wooden fence that enclosed the whole settlement- houses, stables, barns and paddocks - handy for the gate in case of emergencies. Their house was a small wooden A-frame, built for a young John and his new bride, and Dean took pride in keeping it in good shape. 

There was a lamp burning in the window as they approached. Dean went first, as always, in case his father was in a punching mood. He pushed the kitchen door open briskly, knees loose and ready to move, and relaxed a little when he saw John sitting at the table with a bowl of stew.

  “You’re late,” John said, not looking up.

  “Sorry, sir.” Dean came further in, letting Sam shut the door behind them. “Just on our way to bed.”

  “Early start tomorrow. Gordon’s leading a hunt into the forest. Apparently there’s a whole gang of Blasphemies need clearing out.”

  Dean could feel his brother bristle. He pushed him back a step and raised his voice. “Sir, those woods ain’t safe. We shouldn’t be sending folks in there on the basis of a rumour.”

  John raised his head, glowering under heavy brows. “It’s God’s work. We survive through purity. We get this world back on its feet through purity. That means looking past your own backyard.”

  “What if it isn’t God’s work?” Sam said hotly. 

  “Shut the fuck up, Sam,” Dean muttered.

  Sam shook off his hand and squared up to John. “What if we made them like this? The war poisoned the land, it makes sense the same stuff poisoned people.”

  “Are you questioning the holy writ, boy?” John rose slowly from his chair. “Are you questioning _me_ ?”

  “No!” Dean shoved Sam hard towards their bedroom, keeping between him and John. “No, sir. We’ll be up at dawn.”

As soon as the bedroom door closed behind them, Sam rounded on him hotly.

  “Why do you always do that? You give in to him so easily.”

  “He’s our dad.” Dean leaned back, keeping his weight on the door. 

  “That doesn’t make him right!”

  Dean drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Go to bed, Sam.”

Sam made a disgusted noise and turned away, tugging his shirt over his head. Dean waited until the rustle of clothing stopped and Sam had blown the lamp out. There was no sound from the kitchen. Dean let himself have a moment in the dark, when no one could see his weakness. Then he undressed swiftly and slid under the rough wool blankets, into uneasy sleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

Dawn came with a thick, cold drizzle that soaked into their clothes and left their extremities numb. Dean and Sam huddled under the dripping cover of an oak tree with a handful of Lawrence’s hunters, waiting for Elder Gordon to show.

  “Fat lotta good we’ll be in this,” Dean said, blowing on his fingers. “Tracks’ll all have washed away. Assuming there were any to start with.”

  Jo shrugged next to him, tugging at the end of her blonde ponytail. “Mum reckons it’s a waste of time, but Gordon’s latched onto the idea and you know what he’s like. Hopefully we can get some fresh meat whilst we’re out, at least.”

  “Only if your aim’s improved,” Sam said with a grin, flicking the tip of the bow slung over her shoulder. 

  “Fuck you, Winchester,” she said amiably. “It was your ginormous feet crashing through the underbrush that scared the deer last time, not my aim.”

  “You know what they say about men with big feet,” Dean said, waggling his brows.

  Jo rolled her eyes at him. “Yeah, they need big shoes and can’t stealth for shit.”

The banter died as Elder Gordon emerged from the hall and strode over, seemingly oblivious of the rain. 

  “Listen up,” he said, and the hunters crowded closer. “There’s talk of a pack of Blasphemies camped right on our doorstep. They’re a threat to our safety and an offense in the eyes of God. We’re going to find them, and deal with them. Clear?” The hunters muttered a chorus of responses. Dean just grunted. Sam said nothing, ducking so his hair fell over his eyes. Gordon nodded briskly. “Fitzgerald, Harvelle, head north-east. Cuevas, Turner, you’ve got the east. Winchesters, south-east. Ross, Hawkins, go south as far as the river. This is information-gathering only, people. If you find them, come back with as much intel as possible, and we’ll organise a big party to take them out. Be back before dusk. Good luck.”

Dean gave a quick last-minute check over all his equipment, nodded to Sam, and they headed towards the gate with the others. There was one big gate, high as a house, with a walkway on the top for guards, and a smaller postern door set into it. The hunters filed out of Lawrence through that, and it shut with a thud behind them. Dean rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, same as he always did when stepping out into the wild. Something about the air was different outside the fence, fresher, fiercer, like anything could happen. He and Sam wordlessly bumped fists with Jo, then set off in a loping jog through the scrubby stretches of cultivated crops in the direction of the forest.

They slowed as they entered the cover of the trees, crouching a little, eyes moving restlessly from shadow to shadow. Their footsteps were muffled by a thick layer of pine needles but the branches above them creaked eerily in the wind. They were used to hunting in the shallows, where clear ground was barely out of sight, but there was no point in that this time. Blasphemies wouldn’t feel safe so close to civilisation. They had to go deeper.

Dean led the way, moving fluidly from cover to cover. Pine musk scented the air, diluted a little by the increasingly heavy rain that cut his visibility down to dangerously short range. He paused for a moment and slid his bow into the quiver, secure and out of reach. The string was too wet to be trusted - this weather meant knife-work. He drew his favourite, a long pointed blade with serrations down one edge, and prowled further in.

They travelled in silence for a couple of hours, needing only glances and the occasional hand gesture to communicate. Finally, when his belly started to growl, Dean called a halt. They settled under the cover of a thick rhododendron and pulled lunch from their pockets. Sam held up the sodden paper wrapping of his sandwich in disgust. 

  “Hey, I’ll have it if you’re too precious to eat damp bread,” Dean whispered.

Sam eyed him sideways and stuffed the food into his mouth. Dean snickered and was about to take another bite of his own when a sharp crack sounded nearby. They looked at each other.

_   Hear that? _

  Sam nodded, hastily rewrapping his sandwich.

_   You go left. Pincer. _

Dean set off to the right, keeping low. The rain ran into his eyes and dulled his senses, but another crack came from up ahead. He circled warily, moving swiftly from trunk to trunk, until he saw a small clearing and two figures a little way in front. They were dressed in rough wools and leathers, with deep hoods that seemed to Dean like a really sensible idea. One of them straightened up, brushing his hands off.

  “That should do it,” he heard the man say. “Let’s head home, my balls are freezing off.”

  “Benny wanted us to check on the other two in this area,” said the other man in a coal-deep voice. 

  “Yeah, well, Benny’s not here risking a frostbitten dick with us, is he? Come on, bro, my future kids are in danger.”

  “Oh, very well,” Deep Voice said. “Provided you come back with me to check them tomorrow.”

  “Word of honour.” They set off towards the opposite side of the clearing. Dean crept right to the edge of it, trying to keep them in earshot.

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Ye of little faith.”

  “I have faith that you will behave exactly the way you always do. Irresponsibly.”

  “I’m hurt, Cassie, I truly am.”

They moved into the trees, voices fading. Dean emerged cautiously into the clearing, casting around for the start of their tracks. As he neared the centre, the ground suddenly shuddered and gave way beneath his feet. With a shout, he dropped abruptly down. There was a white-hot spike of pain through his thigh. Then everything went black.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean drifted, muzzy and comfortable. It seemed like a pleasant warmth was suffusing his body, and there was a comforting purr reverberating next to his head. The heat grew rapidly, contracting down, and then his leg was on fire with agony, the edges of it slicing away the last of his unconsciousness. He flinched, gasping, and several strong hands held him down.

  “Easy,” said a deep, gravelly voice. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

  Dean was suddenly aware of a soft pressure on his palm. He squeezed tightly, clinging to the only physical stimulus that wasn’t pain.

  “That’s good. Can you tell me your name?”

  His mouth was dry. He had to try twice. “Dean.”

  “Hello, Dean. I’m Castiel. I’m here to help you.”

  “What happened?” he croaked.

  “You fell into a pit trap and hurt your leg quite badly. I need you to stay still for me. Can you tell me how bad the pain is?”

  Dean gritted his teeth and pushed back against the throbbing waves running up from his thigh. “I can take it. I’m a hunter.”

  The hands holding his calves contracted and a shock of agony slammed through him. He arched his spine with an involuntary groan, senses going staticky, and reached for the anchor of Castiel’s hand.

  “Back off, Cas,” came another voice, hard-edged.

  “It’s alright.”

  “You heard what he said!”

  “We can’t stop being human just because the person we’re helping turns out to be awful.”

  “They don’t think we _are_ human!”

  “Since when has anyone’s opinion mattered to you, Gabriel? Dean, can you still hear me?” Dean squeezed his hand again, beyond making sense of the conversation overhead. “Good man. You’ll feel better in a moment.”

  “HEY!” Sam’s voice rang out from a little way off, and Dean felt Castiel’s fingers tense.

  “Well, aren’t you a tall drink of water?” Castiel’s companion said. The hands holding Dean’s legs suddenly vanished.

   “Get off him. Now.”

  “Or what? You’ll hit me with that… fish?”

  Dean heard Sam gasp. When he spoke again, his voice was high and shaken. “How did you do that?”

  “I’m not the one carrying a tuna in my pocket, big boy.”

  Castiel sighed, the breath moving through Dean’s hair. “Gabriel, is now really the time for flirting?”

  “I’m not dead yet. So yes.”

  “That can be arranged,” Sam growled.

  “Easy there, tiger. Kinda jumpy, ain’t ya?”

  “Let go of my brother.”

  Dean tried to open his eyes but the pain kept him from focusing on anything. “Sammy, I’m okay.”

  “That is not very accurate,” Castiel said apologetically, “but I am trying to address the problem. If you could all please be quiet for a moment.”

His hand resettled in Dean’s, who held on gratefully. Then cool fingertips pressed lightly against Dean’s forehead. A curl of warmth, buzzing and golden, brushed over his senses. He sighed involuntarily as it spread, evaporating the white-edged thudding hurt like mist vanishing before the dawn light. Gentle, soothing, spilling out into his muscles and gently caressing them into relaxation. He was sinking, soft-edged and settled, into the hands that held him.

And then they were gone. He blinked, confused and abruptly cold, and sat up. His right trouser-leg was soaked dark, with a hole as wide as three fingers punched through just off-centre. But the skin underneath, the muscle and bone, they were all intact. He flexed experimentally, then looked around in shock.

The stranger - Castiel - was getting up from his knees and backing away. He had rumpled black hair under his hood, brilliantly blue eyes, and an uncomfortable expression. He took a step towards a short man with dark gold hair and a short sword, who was facing off against Sam. Sam’s dagger lay on the ground at his feet. It looked nothing like a fish.

  “Dean,” Sam said with evident relief. “You okay?”

  “Good as new, apparently.” Dean raised an eyebrow at Castiel. “Care to explain how that works?”

  Castiel looked away and didn’t answer.

  “So, here’s the thing,” Gabriel said in a jaunty tone that did nothing to hide his sharp expression. “Cas just healed up your bro, against my strongly worded recommendation, by the way. Which means you’re all up and about to run off and tell your God-obsessed buddies where we are. So why should we let you leave?”

  “You can get inside my head, can’t you?” Sam said slowly. “That’s how you made me think my knife was a fish. You can control what you’re doing. Take a look.”

  Gabriel narrowed his eyes at Sam for a moment. Then he gave an appreciative whistle. “Well, hey there, Samsquatch. I didn’t realise mutants came in Super-Size.”

  “We aren’t going to give you up,” Sam said.

  “You might not.” Gabriel pointed the sword at Dean. “Him, I’m not so sure.”

  “He won’t,” Sam said earnestly. “Will you, Dean?”

  Dean glanced back at Castiel, who was now staring at his hands with a tight-lipped expression. “Life for a life,” he said. “Seems fair.” _Look at me_ , he thought. _You don’t need to fear me._

  Gabriel sheathed the sword in a smooth movement and clapped his hands briskly. “Everybody home for tea and cakes, then. I’m sure you’ll understand if I invite you to leave first.”

  “Of course.” Sam scooped up his dagger and took several steps back the way they’d come.

Dean paused for a moment longer, willing Castiel to look up. He could still feel the reassuring pressure in his hand, which had stayed even after the Blasphemy knew he was a hunter. Castiel had been brave enough for that; why wouldn’t he meet Dean’s gaze now? Gabriel shifted a step sideways, half-blocking Castiel from view, and gave a pointed cough.

 “Come on, Dean,” Sam hissed.

Dean backed off, only turning away when he drew level with his brother. As they left, he couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder more than once. Castiel never looked up.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean let Sam do the talking when they got back to Lawrence, which basically consisted of ‘nothing to report’. He saw Jo eyeing his trousers curiously but she didn’t say anything, and he ducked out of the usual bar visit with the others in order to go change. He’d planned to catch them up but for some reason he hesitated on the path, listening to the cheerful rowdiness inside. Sam would have a drink waiting for him, Jo would have questions, Garth would have a wide smile and endless enthusiasm. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear the idea. He turned on his heel and walked away towards the wall. It needed patrolling, after all. Never mind that there was a rota - another pair of eyes wouldn’t hurt. 

It was a clear night. Frost was already building on the wall and stiffening the grass as he prowled the track restlessly. He turned his collar up against the biting cold, thinking that he should really try making one of those hoods Castiel had been wearing. Nice and deep, lined with fur, just the job and it might even stop his neck aching quite as much. Although… he rolled his shoulders experimentally. There was definitely less knotting there than before. Maybe the Blasphemy had thrown in a free massage with his healing miracle.

Dean pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, scowling. That term had never really sat comfortably in his mind. Sam wasn’t evil, or corrupt, or an agent of the Devil. Sure, he could do some freaky unnatural things, but he was a better man than anyone else Dean knew. For years Dean had worked hard to compartmentalise his brother apart from the things he could do, to not define Sam by his powers. 

But Castiel… how could healing be corrupt? And to heal Dean even after he said he was a hunter - that wasn’t the act of an evil man. Maybe… maybe the powers themselves weren’t evil, any more than an arrow or a knife was. Maybe it was just in how they were used, the heart of the person using them. Which didn’t really solve anything, because then that meant the Blasphemies weren’t intrinsically bad. They were individuals, some of whom were good and some of whom weren’t. Like any Normal. It wasn’t like Dean was going to win awards for saintliness any time soon. Why did his lack of ability to heal automatically make him a better person than Castiel?

  “You look like you swallowed ash, boy.”

Dean looked up, startled, and found his feet had automatically taken him to Elder Bobby’s front porch. The old man had taught both Sam and Dean pretty much everything they ever learned that didn’t come from a beating. He was gruff and sharp-tongued, and Dean loved him (though they’d both die of embarrassment before ever saying so). Bobby was sitting back on his rocking chair with one hand curled round a bottle and the other sunk into the ruff of his aging rottweiler, Rumsfeld. 

  “There’s another beer in the kitchen,” Bobby said, shooting Dean a sharp look from under the peak of his cap. “You can get it yourself, I ain’t waitin’ on you.” 

Dean fetched it out and settled himself on the deck, his back to a porch strut. Rumsfeld heaved a huge sigh and shuffled forward a few inches so he could lay his head on Dean’s thigh. Just over the non-existent wound. Dean scratched the dog’s ears affectionately and tipped his head back to stare at the night sky. For several long minutes there was peace. The only noise was the occasional creak of Bobby’s chair and the faint swish of liquid in the bottles. Dean felt the tension knotted under his breastbone start to loosen, uncurling up towards the cold expanse of stars.

  “Were there Blasphemies before the war?” he said at last, voice very low. He didn’t look at Bobby.

  “Only stories of ‘em. Fairytales, urban myths and the like. No one believed.”

  “Is that why Tribulation happened? Because they didn’t believe?”

  Bobby snorted. “Tribulation happened because idjits got hold of weapons and treated ‘em like toys. The miracle is that anyone survived.”

  “And now everyone believes.”

  “And now everyone believes,” the old man agreed.

 They drank in silence for a while longer before Dean got up enough nerve to ask the next question. “In the stories… were they all bad?”

  “Well, now,” Bobby said slowly. “That’s a dangerous question.”

Dean felt a prickle of tension across his shoulders. If he’d been having this conversation with Elder Gordon (not that he ever would, fuck), this would be the point where he got pulled into the hall for questioning by the Council. But Bobby wouldn’t do that to him. He tightened his grip on the bottle anyway, legs tensing to run. 

(He wouldn’t be able to run if it weren’t for…)

  “There was a saying, back in the old days.” The chair creaked as Bobby leaned back. “One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter. Depends on who’s doing the looking. But the world’s changed some since then. We don’t have the luxury of agreeing to disagree. Everyone pulls together or the whole damn ship goes down.”

  “And Blasphemies can’t pull with us.” It wasn’t quite a question.

  “I’m sorry about Anna,” Bobby said, his voice gruff to hide the gentleness. “I know you two were close. But someone who can read everyone’s thoughts, see all their secrets? That’s gonna tear a community apart sooner or later.”

Dean swallowed down the last of his beer, throat clenching hard. He couldn’t argue with Bobby on that point. People were too afraid of the contents of their own heads - if they thought others might find out, it could escalate badly. Dean had seen it happen through gossip alone, and it was always nasty. Once powers got involved… 

_But doesn’t that mean the problem is normal people?_ He dragged a rough hand over his mouth, wiping the question away, and stood up. “Thanks, Bobby.”

  The old man gave him a wary look. “You don’t talk about this stuff with anyone else, do ya, boy?”

  He snorted. “I ain’t stupid.”

(Secrets, secrets everywhere. How long before they all came squirming out into the light?)

  “Good.”

  “You got my back, though. Right?”

  Bobby tugged his cap down over his eyes and leaned back again. “Yeah, Dean. I got your back.”


	6. Chapter 6

Riding the round trip to Topeka for supplies took a fully day. Usually Dean enjoyed it - the break from Lawrence’s petty politics, fresh air and speed, Impala’s powerful muscles eating up the ground beneath him - but that was before his thoughts began to rub in raw circles. This time the fresh air blew cold on his skin in contrast to his heated brain, and the rhythmic thud of hooves wasn’t enough to keep the thoughts from flurrying round him like flies.

He couldn’t get those blue eyes out of his head. They crept up on him whenever he wasn’t busy with something, and sometimes when he was. They’d been (he had to search for the word) kind. Not demonic or corrupt - kind. A rare thing in this world their fathers had made.

Anna had been kind. She’d known what he did, and who for (and didn’t that smile haunt his dreams), and said nothing.

They would come for Sam eventually. He felt the weight of that certainty like a cold stone in his belly. They would come for his little brother despite Sam’s gentle heart and sweet smile, and make him choose how to die. Before then, somehow, Dean had to change their minds. Make them see (blue eyes) reason. 

Impala tossed her head, snorting as his hands tightened on the reins, and he jerked free of his thoughts.

  “Sorry, baby,” he said, leaning forward to pat her neck. 

A movement up ahead caught his eye and he frowned, reaching back for his bow before he recognised Jo. She was galloping towards him, crouched low in the saddle and riding hard. A chill ran up his spine and he took a deep, steadying breath to ready himself for whatever bad news she carried.

  “What?” he barked, as soon as she was within earshot.

  “Elder Bobby sent me,” she panted back. “The Council called Sam -”

Impala let out a screech as Dean kicked his heels in, not waiting for the rest of that sentence. He was nearly an hour’s ride out but he could cut that to twenty minutes at a flat gallop. A quick slash of his knife cut the saddlebags of traded goods free and they tumbled away. He crouched in the stirrups, low over Impala’s withers to minimise drag, and urged her on with shaking hands. He didn’t dare think, because if he thought then he knew he was already too late to stop it and that was not an acceptable fucking situation. Sam was his little brother, his, and anyone who laid so much as a finger on that lanky body was going to forfeit said body part. With interest. 

The ground raced past, Impala’s legs moving in a blur. The only sound was the drumroll of hooves on turf, and the wind ripping past Dean’s ears, and his pounding pulse. Flecks of white sweat began to appear on Impala’s neck and foam built around the corners of her mouth. He knew he was pushing her too hard, hard enough to break maybe, but he couldn’t stop her. Wouldn’t stop her. He’d always known Sam was worth dying for. If he had to give up other lives too, even that of his great-hearted horse, it was a price he would willingly pay.

The wall of Lawrence came into sight over the rise, and Impala began to ease up. He raised his hands, shaking her back into a gallop, and yelled “GATE!” at the top of his lungs. She stumbled, missing a step, and he grabbed wildly at the saddle-horn. The check in pace gave the gate enough time to start opening by the time they reached it. Even then, Dean didn’t slow. He set Impala at the slowly widening gap and they leapt through it with barely a centimetre on either side of his legs. There were shouts from the guards on duty but he left them in his wake and pounded down the ash-road to the hall.

By the time he reached it, a couple of hunters had come outside and were waiting with grim faces. He reined Impala into a blowing, fretting halt and stared them down, eyes wild.

  “Get outta my way.”

  Rufus stepped forward, reaching towards Impala’s bridle. She shied away, reacting to the tension in Dean’s legs. “Easy, Dean. Come on down and we’ll talk.”

  “Get. The fuck. Out of my way.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Garth said, bouncing up on the other side of the horse, wide-eyed and eager. “Just routine questions.”

  Rufus dropped an overly casual hand to his knife-hilt. “Nothing smart you can do now, kid. And I ain’t gonna let you do something stupid.”

  “I won’t tell you again,” Dean said, his voice level. Impala pawed the ground. 

  “John’s in there already,” Garth said. “He’ll look out for Sam. It’ll be fine.”

Rufus rolled his eyes and Dean used the barest moment of distraction to kick out. His boot caught Rufus on the side of the head, and the older man staggered backwards with a cry. He swung his bow viciously with his off-hand, driving Garth out of reach, and kneed Impala hard. She reared up with a scream, front hooves punching, and kicked the hall door open. The people inside pulled aside in a chorus of shouts, and there - a lonely figure in front of the seated Council of Elders - was Sam.

He stood in the centre of the hall, hands bound by thick rope, his hair falling over his eyes. Someone had given him a bloody nose and a black eye. He twisted to look up at Dean and a flicker of hope brought colour to his pale face. His mouth shaped Dean’s name. 

A flash of movement to the right. Dean turned his head as the spear-butt came up at speed. There was a soundless, lightless flash across his vision. Then nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean groaned as the pounding in his head forced him to accept he was awake again. There was bare dirt under his hands and, after a moment’s confusion, he worked out that his wrists and ankles were bound.

  “Unconscious twice in two weeks. That’s gotta be some kind of record for you.”

That was Sam’s voice, hiding worry under sarcasm the same way Dean always did. He sat up with a grunt of effort and rubbed at his face. One hand came away sticky from his right temple and he glared muzzily at the clotting blood on his fingers.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered and looked around, wincing.

He was in the Cage. High metal bars formed a rectangular pen large enough to hold a bull. Sam was standing at the other end, hands tied over his head, watching him with sad eyes. Beyond the bars, Dean could see the cobbled-together medical chair where sterilizations took place. He swallowed hard and turned away from that.

  “What were you thinking?”

  Dean prodded tenderly at his head again, blinking against the pain. “Figured you could use a knight in shining armour.”

  “Great job so far,” Sam tugged pointedly at his wrists. “When do we get to ride off into the sunset?”

  “I’m working on that part.” Dean patted his hips, the small of his back, his ankles. “Crap. Assholes got all my knives.”

  “That was Dad.”

  Dean looked up sharply. “What did he say?”

  “Nothing.” Sam looked away from Dean, face carefully blank.

  “C’mon, he musta said something.”

  “Yeah, well, he didn’t.”

  “What about before I got there?”

  “He wouldn’t even look at me,” Sam said flatly. “Gordon said he could sit out but he just shrugged and stayed.”

  Dean swallowed past the painful lump in his throat. “Maybe he’s waiting until later. Biding his time, y’know?”

Sam didn’t bother replying. Dean closed his eyes for a moment, marshalling his willpower, and began another patted inventory of his resources. They’d been thorough when they searched him. Even his belt was gone.

  “Fuck.” He tipped his head back against the bars, tiredness making it heavy. “What happened, Sam? How’d they get you?”

  “I was down past the stream, behind the cranberry bushes. I was trying to make stuff move. That guy, Gabriel, he could control it. I thought, maybe if I practiced hard enough...”

  Dean sighed. “But someone saw you.”

  “Jess came looking. We’ve… that’s where, before, sometimes…”

  “Yeah, yeah, spare me the diagram. And she shopped you.”

  “It wasn’t her fault,” Sam said quickly. “She saw me move the spoon and screamed. Victor came running.”

  “Dammit, Sammy.”

  “I figured that was it, y’know?” Sam sounded very young and scared, suddenly. “You were gone and Dad wasn’t speaking up. I thought they’d kill me fast, before you got back and made a fuss. I thought I wouldn’t get to say goodbye.”

  Dean glared at him. “Nobody’s saying goodbye. As long as I’m around, nothing bad’s gonna happen to you.”

  Sam smiled shakily. “How come you made it back so early, anyhow?”

  There was a loud cough as Jo rounded the corner and stood outside the cage. “That would be me,” she said. “Elder Bobby told me to go as soon as they hauled your gigantic ass up to the hall. Didn’t think he’d be dumb enough to just barge in, though.”

  Dean scowled at her and didn’t reply.

  “Thank you,” Sam told her. “I know it didn’t work out but I appreciate the effort.”

  She shrugged awkwardly. “I know you’re a Blasphemy but you were my friend too.”

  “‘Were’?” Sam said in a quiet voice.

  Jo flinched a little and looked at Dean. “The hunters are talking to the Elders. Trying to persuade them we need you. You’re good at what you do, Dean, one of the best. I think we’ve got a chance.”

  Dean shook his head. “Thanks, sweetheart, but you know that ain’t gonna fly. Sammy and me, we’re a package deal.”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Sam said sharply. “This is your best shot. It’s over for me, it doesn’t have to be for you.”

 “For the last time, Sam: no.”

  Jo held up her hands in frustration. “You’re both as stubborn and stupid as each other. If you aren’t gonna let me help you, I’ll stop wasting my time.”

  “Hey, Jo?” Dean called as she turned to leave. “You look after Impala for me, okay?”

  Her face twisted suddenly and she gave an abrupt nod. “You got it,” she said, her voice gruff.

The barn door closed behind her with a thump. Dean forced himself to look at his brother with a smile.

  “Wish we had a deck of cards or something.”

  “Dean…”

  “Don’t wanna hear it, Sam.”

  Sam sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Do you even have a plan?”

  “Same as always. Go down swinging.”

  “That’s a terrible plan.”

  “Seems it’s my day for ‘em. You with me?”

  Sam gave him a slow, sweet smile. “Kinda rude not to.”

  “Bitch.”

  “Jerk.”

Dean settled down to wait, flexing his fingers and feet to keep the blood circulating. They’d have to go through him to reach Sam and he’d make them buy their passage dearly.


	8. Chapter 8

There were no lamps in the Cage. When the dark fell it was complete. Dean couldn’t even see his own feet, let alone Sam, but he could hear his brother’s teeth chattering. He clenched his jaw against the cold and continued to curl and uncurl his fists, coaxing the blood sluggishly round. His thigh began to cramp against the hard ground and he shifted, trying to ease it.  

There was a snick as the barn door catch lifted. Dean tensed, awareness thrumming through him. Only one set of footsteps, rolling soft on the packed earth floor. No torch, either. This wasn’t the expected fight, then. Not unless they meant to shoot him and Sam through the bars. 

(It’s what he would do.)

  “Sam? Dean?” 

  The gruff whisper made Dean sit upright. “Bobby?”

  There was a clang and bitten-off cursing as Bobby walked into the Cage. “It’s blacker than Satan’s crotch in here. Where’s the goddamn door?”

  “I’m sitting by it,” Dean said. “What’re you doing?”

  “What d’you think I’m doing, muttonhead?” Jingling metal and a scraping sound, then the air moved near to Dean. “Busting you boys outta here, that’s what.”

  “You can’t,” Sam said. “If they figure out it was you…”

  Bobby snorted next to Dean and crouched down. “Gordon’ll pull a prissy face and Ellen’ll give me a slap. They ain’t gonna drive me out. Give me your wrists.” 

  Dean held them up and swallowed as Bobby began to cut through the rope. “You shouldn’t be doing this,” he said.

  “Damn straight.” The rope parted with a shudder and Bobby patted his way down Dean’s leg to the ankle restraints. “By rights, your daddy should be in here. But that man’s got nothing but rock between his ears so you’re stuck with me.” He grunted in satisfaction. “There. Get off your lazy ass and cut your brother down. I’ll be just outside.”

He pressed the knife into Dean’s hands and left. Dean hauled himself upright, stamping circulation back into his feet, and took a couple of steps into the Cage until his outstretched hand encountered Sam’s chest.

  “Fuck, dude, you’re freezing,” he muttered. 

  “The hospitality in this place sucks,” Sam said, tripping numbly over the words.

  “Yeah, see if we stay here again.” 

The rope came free with a twang of tension and Sam slumped heavily into Dean’s arms, narrowly missing the knife. He bit back a groan of pain as his abused muscles changed position.

  “Can you walk?”

  “I think so.” A staggering step forward and Dean had to grab him before he collapsed.

  “Come here, you big baby.” 

Dean got one of Sam’s arms over his neck and grasped his brother’s torso. They staggered out of the Cage, carefully negotiating the narrow entrance, and headed towards the barn door. Bobby was waiting just outside with Impala, who snuffled softly at Dean’s chest.

  “Some basic supplies in the saddle bags,” the Elder whispered. “There’s a coupla loose planks in the fence behind my place. Should be big enough to get out.”

  “How long they been loose?” Dean said, manhandling Sam up onto the saddle with a grunt.

  “None of your sass, boy.” 

  “Bobby,” Sam said, looking down with wide, soft eyes that looked silver in the moonlight. “How can we ever thank you?”

  “Ain’t looking for thanks,” Bobby said gruffly. 

Dean wrapped his arms around Bobby’s shoulders and breathed in the distinctive mix of tobacco, old books and dog. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard, as Bobby hugged him back. 

  “Stay safe, man,” he choked out.

  “You too.” Bobby squeezed tightly for a moment before pulling back, clearing his throat. “Go on, get going. We ain’t got all night.”

Dean took Impala’s reins and led her away from the barn, treading softly over the grass as he cut away from the buildings towards the fence. Sam lay along the horse’s neck, whispering to keep her quiet. They slipped between trees, crossing patches of open ground with hammering hearts, until the shadow of Bobby’s house loomed over them. Dean handed the reins up and worked his way along the fence, cautiously testing for weakness, until he found five planks that gave a little. 

  “This ain’t gonna be subtle,” he murmured. “I’ll pull ‘em free quick as I can. Push her through and keep going. I’ll catch up.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” Sam said fiercely.

  “Better not, bitch.”

He dug the blade of the knife under the first plank to give some leverage. The board creaked and he jammed his fingertips into the gap, swearing under his breath. Splinters spiked into his skin as he hauled. The nails slid free with a screech and the noise of splitting wood. Dean tossed the plank aside and yanked at the next one, putting his shoulder through the newly created hole for leverage. The noise was louder this time but the wood came free quickly. The third followed, and then Sam sat up and looked behind him.

  “Someone’s yelling.”

  Dean compressed his lips and tore at the fence with bleeding hands. The next two planks fell with a clatter. “Go!”

Sam urged the reluctant Impala through the narrow gap, ducking low over her withers to avoid being knocked from the saddle. Dean could hear the shouting now, angry voices drawing near, and pounding feet coming along the wall walkway. He searched frantically through the grass for the knife. A glint of metal in moonlight - he snatched it up and jumped after, into the open dark. Sam was waiting a few metres away, eyes wide and white. 

  “Come on!” he called.

Dean ran towards him. There was a whistle of wind over his shoulder, and a white-fletched arrow thudded into the turf just ahead of him. He risked a glance backwards. Jo was standing on the wall, another arrow already nocked. She took careful aim and loosed again. This time the arrow landed just behind Impala. 

  “Dean!” Sam yelled.

  Dean set one foot in the empty stirrup and swung himself up behind his brother. “Calm down, princess, she’s shooting to miss.”

  “Yeah, but the others won’t.”

Sam shook Impala up into a loping canter and they thundered away into the covering night.


	9. Chapter 9

Navigating the forest in the dark was even worse than navigating it in daylight. Fortunately Impala was sensible enough to be able to pick a route that didn’t break her legs, but the low-hanging branches caught Sam in the face more than once which meant Dean got headbutted as his brother either flinched or was pushed backwards.

  “Dude, this is ridiculous,” he said after a while. “We just gonna wander round in circles until dawn, or what?”

  “I’ve been calling,” Sam said with a tight note of frustration in his voice.

  Dean paused. “With your freaky mind-magic? You think that’s gonna work?”

  “They were all set to kill me for having powers, Dean. So yeah, I really hope there’s an up-side.”

  “Hey, don’t get pissy with me. I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Sam gave a long sigh, and relaxed slightly against Dean’s chest. “Sorry. I just… I hate it when you…”

  “When I what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Bullshit. When I what? Tell me or I'll turn this horse around, I swear to God.” The tremors of a slightly chuckle reverberated through them both, then quickly died. “C’mon, Sammy, I ain’t the mind-reader around here. You gotta talk to me, man.”

  “When you call me a freak,” Sam mumbled.

  “What? I never called you that.”

  “You just did! Like, two seconds ago.”

  “No, I said what you can do is freaky. And it is.” Dean tightened his arm around his brother’s waist briefly. “You ain’t a freak, Sam. A massive dork, sure, and a pain in my ass. But not a freak.”

  “There’s no difference.”

  “Course there is, idiot. You don’t define people by what they can do. You define ‘em by who they are as a person.”

  “Wow.” Sam shifted slightly, casting a look back over his shoulder. “That was… actually deep.”

  “Fuck you.”

Golden light suddenly burst around them. Sam threw up an arm to cover his eyes and Dean tried to squint through the initial blindness, reaching for his dagger. A dry laugh came from off to one side.

  “Ah, brotherly love. How touching.”

  “Gabriel?” Sam said cautiously.

  “Hello, boys. Didn’t expect to see you back in my neighbourhood. At least, not like this. You’ve got quite a pair of lungs on you, Samwise.”

  “Could you maybe ease up on the supernova?” Dean said, not removing his hand from the knife-hilt.

  “I’m so sorry, where are my manners?”

  The light vanished and Dean blinked gratefully. It took him a couple of seconds to realise that he hadn’t just lost his night-vision; he’d lost any kind of vision. “Hey, asshole!” he growled.

  “Did you really expect me to just let you stroll in like tourists?” Gabriel said lightly.

  “I told you, we need help,” Sam said.

  “No, _you_ need help. This guy’s just along for the ride.”

  “He’s with me,” Sam said, voice firm.

  “We all have our burdens to bear. Mine, for example, is that I’m not actually top dog in these parts. And the orders are for Mr. Normal here to come in blind, if he comes at all.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until Benny decides he’s not a threat to society. Which is pretty fucking ironic, when you stop to think about it. Anyway, speaking of stopping, I have a nice warm bed to get back to with a very demanding woman in it. Who, by the way, is open to the idea that three is not a crowd. So shall we?”

Dean felt Impala’s muscles shifting as she turned, and then they were moving again. There were still tree branches to the face, despite their native guide, but now he didn’t even have a split-second to brace for impact. By the time they stopped again he’d collected a couple of nasty scratches and what would soon become a black eye.

  “Welcome to Purgatory,” Gabriel said from just ahead. “It’s not much to look at - well, it’s nothing to look at for Average Joe there - but it’s home. I’d give you the tour but, well, bed. Woman. Priorities, you understand. You can bunk down in the barn for what’s left of the night. Benny’ll come by first thing tomorrow.”

  “Thank you,” Sam said, sounding sincere. “Really. I understand this must be hard for you.”

  “Oh, it is.” Gabriel’s voice dripped with innuendo. “Very hard.”

  “Okay,” Dean cut in loudly. “We’ve had kind of an interesting day and I could really use some R&R. So, if I could just get my sight back…”

  “No can do, partner. Not until Benny’s had a look at you first. Sam has fantastic puppy-eyes - he can be your guide-dog for one night. Ciao!”

  “Hey!” Dean shouted.

  “He’s gone,” Sam said.

  “Asshole.”

  “Honestly? This is still a million times better than the way they’d be treated if they turned up in Lawrence asking for help.”

  Dean scowled but couldn’t argue the point. “Where’s this barn, then?”

  “We’re in front of it. Stay here, I’ll walk us in.”

Sam shifted his balance and swung down from Impala. There was a slight squeak of hinges and then Impala paced forwards. Dean cocked his head, on the alert for danger. He could smell chickens and goats, and something sweet - dried grass, perhaps. Then Sam touched his leg.

  “Need help getting down?”

  “Dude, I’m blind, not dead.” He dismounted easily, keeping his hand on the saddle-horn. “What’s it look like?”

  “Pretty small. Mostly animal pens. There’s room for Impala near the door, and a feed barrel. I guess we’re on blankets.”

  “If we have any.”

  “There’s a couple rolled up in the saddlebags. Hang on.” There was a rustle, a snap of cloth, and then Sam tugged him gently forward a few paces. “There you go. I’ll take care of Impala.”

  “That’s my job,” Dean protested, feeling abruptly helpless and angry about it.

  “You can’t see,” Sam pointed out. “Don’t worry, I’ll do it properly. You taught me how, after all.”

Dean wanted to say of course he trusted Sam to look after the horse, that wasn’t the point, but he gritted his jaw and felt his way carefully down onto the unrolled blanket. He made sure the knife was secure in its sheath, and tried not to think about how vulnerable they were. Sam was a good hunter. They’d have to work hard to get the drop on him.

(They could make him see whatever they wanted.)

(He was more like them than like Dean. He wasn’t the one they’d come after.)

(Would he even fight to defend Dean?)

  A second snap of cloth, and the solid heat of his brother settled right next to him. “Goodnight,” Sam said softly. “And thanks. For coming with me.”

  Dean pushed his last thought aside with a tiny twinge of relief. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on those ginormous feet of yours. Might as well be me.”

Sam gave a breathy huff of laughter and rolled over. Dean lay on his back, staring at absolute nothing, and failed to relax enough to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean was woken by a horrendous clattering noise, and Impala’s increasingly restive snorts. He sat up, feeling blindly around for his dagger and a lamp. Then his brain caught up and his jaw clenched in a rush of fury and frustration.

  “Sam?”

  “It’s the roof,” his brother answered, sounding reassuringly fine. “Storm winds are shaking some of the metal sheets loose.”

  “Is Impala okay?”

  “Bit freaked out. So are the rest of the animals. I’m gonna take a look outside, see how bad the damage is.”

  “Be careful.”

Dean pushed aside his blanket and stood up, feeling his way along the wooden wall to where Impala was loosely tethered. She pushed her velvet nose into his chest and huffed warmly down his shirt. She started as the barn door slammed open with a massive bang, and Dean ran his hands soothingly down her neck.

  “Easy, baby. It’s just Sam.”

It sounded pretty bad outside. There was a whining edge to the wind that Dean didn’t like, boding damage and lightning. The roof was a shattering level of noise now, corrugated iron crashing against each other in a constant cacophony that sounded like a bare handful of nails away from coming loose entirely. Impala’s skin started shivering and he could feel her muscles bunching in readiness to run.

  “Hey, sweetheart, no need for that, I’ve got you. Ain’t gonna let anything happen to you, you understand? It’s just the weather throwing a shitfit, you’ve heard this kinda thing before. Remember that storm last winter? Brought down the old chestnut tree on the goat pen, smashed it to pieces. The goats all got out and near destroyed Missouri’s vegetable patch. Kept the whole of Lawrence in kindling for two months. You weren’t too happy about the noise then, but nothing touched you, and it’s the same now.”

  “Hey!” A voice yelled from the direction of the door. “When you’re done hugging the horse, we could use a hand.”

  Dean turned his face towards the shout, mouth twisting. “Love to, pal, but I’m a bit visually challenged right now.”

  “What? Oh, right.”

Colour burst across Dean’s vision, making him flinch at the unexpected influx of light. He blinked rapidly, trying to adjust. It wasn’t all that bright, the dawn light smothered by heavy clouds. Gabriel stood in the door of the barn, hair dishevelled and shirt plastered wetly to his chest. He beckoned impatiently. Dean gave Impala a final pat and followed.

The wind body-checked him as he emerged, forcing him a step back, and icy rain needled into every inch of exposed skin. He grabbed at Gabriel’s elbow.

  “Where’s Sam?”

  “Anchoring!” Gabriel pointed to a corner of the barn, where Sam was braced against a rope that was attached to a massive, battered tarpaulin. “Got to get the roof covered!” Gabriel yelled. “Take the other end!”

He shoved Dean towards Sam and took off in the opposite direction. Dean ran stumbling towards his brother.

  “Sam!”

  “Dean! Grab the other rope!”

Sam jerked his head down the long side of the barn to where another rope danced frantically in the gale. The tarpaulin was flapping like a loose sail, nearly pulling Sam off his feet. If they didn’t get all four corners anchored down, the wind would tear it loose and the barn roof along with it. Dean jumped for the loose rope, finally getting his hands on the rough sisal. It tore at his palms but he hung on grimly and hauled the tarpaulin down along the length of the barn to the far corner. It caught on the edge of a loose sheet of metal just before he reached the end. He tried back-tracking a little but it wouldn’t come free. He wrenched and swore but the metal had it caught fast.

Suddenly a broad-shouldered man appeared on the ridge of the roof, having apparently climbed up from the far side. He held the metal sheet up with one hand and tugged the tarp free with the other. Then he held it high and pulled it over the roof the rest of the way to the end, jumping down the twelve-foot drop with a casual air. He rammed an iron spike into the ground with his bare hands and tethered the fourth rope tightly. Then he came over to Dean’s corner with another spike, which he embedded at Dean’s feet.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Dean shouted over the wind.

  “Tie off,” he said, flashing a white-toothed smile. “Introductions when we’re dry.”

He headed back towards the door-end of the barn. Dean secured the rope, wiped the water from his eyes, and followed. Sam and Gabriel were just tying off when he reached them, both soaked to the skin and crazy-haired. The man heaved the barn door closed, secured it with a heavy beam, and gestured to them.

  “My place.”

  “I’m not leaving my horse!” Dean called.

  “I checked on her, she’s fine,” Sam said, and Dean could see the blue tinge around his lips. “We need to get warm.”

Dean nodded and, with an involuntary glance towards the barn, followed. The stranger led them down a well-trodden track, now churned with mud, down a gentle slope until they emerged on the edge of a river. It roared past, roiling and crested, brown with debris. Squinting against the rain, Dean could pick out a couple of lit windows just up the bank – at least five houses, he thought.

(Safety in numbers but where were the fences?)

They slip-slid to the second one, passing a solidly-built log cabin, and the stranger gestured them inside. Dean stumbled inside and stood dripping on the wooden floor as he looked around. They were in a low-ceilinged room large enough to comfortably fit ten people. There were two long benches, a couple of high-backed chairs and a table, all simply and beautifully made. The seats had thick furs thrown over them, and an open fire at the far end warmed the room effectively. The whole place felt… welcoming. Even cozy. 

  “Let’s get those tops off before anyone catches cold,” said the stranger, tugging his own sopping shirt over his head and draping it on the back of a chair. He opened a small wooden chest and pulled out several blankets. 

  “Thanks,” Dean said, accepting two and passing one to Sam. He scowled at Gabriel, who was openly enjoying the view as Sam stripped off his shirt and wrapped the blanket around his shivering torso. “Hey, watch it.”

  “Oh, I am,” Gabriel said heavily. 

  “Now, brother, let’s not scare off the new neighbours,” their host said with a smile. He held out a massive hand. “I’m Benny Lafitte. I look after things here in Purgatory.”

  Dean shook it, trying not to wince at the strength enveloping his fingers. “Dean Winchester. This is Sam.”

  “Pleasure.” Benny leaned against the edge of the table, eyes flicking between them. “Gabriel tells me you boys are fresh outta Lawrence, is that right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Sam said, scrubbing at his dripping hair with a corner of the blanket. “I, um… I can do stuff.”

  “He’s telekinetic,” Gabriel said, dropping down onto the bench just behind Benny. “Possibly also psychic.”

  Benny looked at Dean. “And you?”

  “I’m his brother.”

  “And a Normal, I gather. We ain’t never had a Normal in Purgatory before. Might be some folks don’t take so kindly to it. Nearly all those living here have hurt at the hands of Normal society. You understand what I’m saying, friend?”

  Dean raised his chin and tried to look as imposing as possible whilst half-naked and wrapped in a fluffy green blanket. “I ain’t leaving Sammy.”

  “Well, then.” Benny gave them both a nod. “Welcome to Purgatory, boys.”


	11. Chapter 11

The door opened with a buffet of wind. Dean turned, taking a step out of the way, as Castiel slid into the room and heaved the door shut again. He pushed his dripping hair messily out of his face and looked up, blinking water from his lashes. Dean swallowed against an abrupt and unexpected breathlessness. Castiel’s eyes were bluer than he’d remembered, wide and almost childlike in his high-planed face. His shirt was plastered to his chest, following every muscled contour. Wet trousers clung to powerful thighs, ( _which Dean was definitely not looking at, fuck’s sake, Winchester, get a grip_ ) and his skin was quickly acquiring a glow as it warmed up. He looked at Dean, lips parting, and away again.

  “The fish traps are fine,” he said to Benny, his voice cousin to the thunder rolling outside. “I’ve beached the boat and tied her down, but we should keep checking.”

  “Thanks, man.” Benny waved a hand the size of a spade. “Meet our latest arrivals. Sam and Dean Winchester.”

  Castiel’s eyes flickered back to Dean’s face for a brief moment. “You are letting him stay?”

  “You got a problem with that?” Sam straightened to his full height, shoulders broadening.

  Castiel continued to look at Benny. “He’s a hunter.”

  “Was,” Dean said loudly. “Retired now.” _Because of Sammy. Because of you._

  “Well done on quitting the day job,” Gabriel said with heavy sarcasm. “That’s not going to bring back all the so-called Blasphemies you killed.”

  “Dean’s never killed anyone,” Sam protested. Dean thought of Anna and folded his lips together tightly.

  Benny raised an eyebrow at him. “That true?”

  “We hunted for meat, mostly. Any dangerous predators that got too close to Lawrence. The Council dealt with Blasphemies.” And Dean knew, he _knew_ , his own father’s hands were dripping blood. Probably even Anna’s. It had never sat well with him. Now it made his stomach churn.

  Castiel turned to look at him, full on, and Dean took a deep breath as the weight of that sapphire gaze settled heavily on him. “Where we grew up, the hunters were responsible.”

  “They liked a bit of fun before the kill,” Gabriel added. “Made people run, then set the dogs after ‘em.”

  Dean held Castiel’s eyes. The world around blurred outwards until there was nothing left in his peripheral vision. “Exile or clean death,” he said quietly. “And I ain’t ever held the blade.”

  “Would you have?” Castiel said, nostrils flaring. “If they ordered it?”

  “I kill animals, not people.”

  “Ah, but which are we?” Gabriel drawled.

  Dean looked deliberately from Castiel to Gabriel, Benny, Sam. Held Sam’s fox-eyes steady. Gave him a little smile. “People. Animals ain’t this creatively annoying. Besides, Sam’s got a bigger vocabulary than me, which I’m pretty sure makes him the smartest ape in the room.”

  Sam grinned back, wide with the relief in tension. “Impala’s got a bigger vocabulary than you.”

  Dean allowed it with a shrug, and looked back at Castiel who was still staring at him with a little crease between his brows that Dean irrationally wanted to smooth away. “I ain’t them. Whoever hurt you two, I ain’t them, but I’ll understand if you wanna take a swing. You do what you have to, to make it right in your head. You fixed my leg - I’ll even give you the first one for free. But as long as Sam’s here, so’m I.”

  Castiel inhaled and turned his head away, fingers flexing. “That will not be necessary.”

  “When y’all are done playing caveman,” Benny said calmly, “there’s still a question of living space. You boys can bed down in here for what’s left of tonight, but that ain’t a long-term solution. Andrea would have my hide, and yours into the bargain.” He looked at Gabriel, who spread his hands.

  “Have you _met_ Kali?”

  “Fair point. Cas?”

Castiel folded his arms tightly, frowning, and Dean realised he was shivering. His hair and shirt were still dripping in rivulets down his body. There was a spare blanket on top of the chest. Dean snagged it out and held it out to him. Castiel stared at it blankly.

  “Dude, you’re freezing. Dry off before you catch something.”

  “I do not get ill,” he muttered, but took the blanket and wrapped it clumsily around his shoulders.

  “Cas?” Benny prompted.

  “Oh, very well,” he said grumpily. “But this is not a permanent arrangement. Understood?”

  “Absolutely,” Dean said.

  “Thank you,” Sam added earnestly.

  Benny clapped his hands together. “Alright, then. I’ll see you in the morning.” He nodded to Gabriel and Castiel, then ambled to the back of the room and disappeared through a door.

  “I should check on the boat again,” Castiel said.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Gabriel said, standing up. “I’ll do it on my way home. Stay here and get warm. Dean, you want to grab your stuff from the barn while these two play House?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Relax, Sammich. I’m not going to take him out into the woods and murder him.” He opened the door onto a howling gale and gestured. “Shall we?”

Dean tossed his blanket at Sam and followed the man outside. Even in the lea of the house, the wind buffeted hard at his body. He hunched his shoulders and waited for Gabriel to take the lead.

  “You remember the way to the barn?” Gabriel said.

  “Yeah, but…”

  “My place is in the other direction. I’m not going to stumble about in this with a hunter - I’m sorry, ex-hunter - when I could be in bed.”

  “Then what the hell was that little act in there?” Dean demanded, hand going to the knife in his belt.

  “You might not be a killer, but you do want to stick something in Cassie,” Gabriel said.

  Dean gaped. “What? No! I…”

  Gabriel tapped his temple. “I can read your dirty little mind, Dean. Now, we’re both big brothers so I’ll make you a deal. You break mine, I break yours. And I am so much more creative than you, believe me.”

He flashed a wide, white smile that was lit up with lightning in the sky behind him. Then he slapped Dean’s shoulder and walked off into the storm.


	12. Chapter 12

Moving into Castiel’s place turned out to be slightly more complicated than Dean had expected. He lowered the saddlebags from his shoulder, staring.

  “Dude. You live in a fucking tree.”

  Castiel paused, one hand on the rope ladder that hung from a platform ten feet up. “I’m glad to know your eyes are still functioning adequately.”

  Sam coughed into his hand, the way he always did when he was trying not to laugh. “Dean doesn’t like heights.”

  “Shut up.”

  “He is welcome to continue sleeping in the goat shed if he prefers.” Castiel swung himself up the ladder with a surprising amount of grace, and tossed a rope down from the platform. “Secure this to your bags and I will haul them up.”

  Dean reluctantly grabbed the end of the rope. “This blows,” he muttered. “I’m a man, not a squirrel.”

  Sam clapped him on the shoulder. “Suck it up, Nutkin.”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m sure you and your giraffe legs are gonna be elegance itself on that rope ladder.”

  “Watch and learn, jerk.”

Sam flailed slightly but he made it to the top with a kick to get him over the edge of the platform. He sat up, hair in disarray, and grinned down at Dean. Castiel had already hauled up one set of saddlebags - he dropped the rope back down and Dean hitched it around Sam’s. Then he took a deep breath, set one foot on the lowest rung, and rubbed his palms together.

  “We’re all monkeys underneath,” he told himself. “You got this.”

The ladder wriggled alarmingly underneath his feet as he climbed, but that wasn’t the worst bit. Nor was it when he reached the top, ran out of handholds, and Sam had to haul him over the ledge by his armpits. The moment he sat up, panting slightly, and looked at the ground beneath him, how far it was, with nothing to stop him falling, and it started to move in his vision as his centre of gravity shifted, and then Sam grabbed at his shoulder because he was leaning too far over the edge… that was the worst bit. He scrambled backwards until his spine hit something solid and breathed with his eyes closed until the nausea subsided.

A cool hand brushed Dean’s forehead and he flinched. The touch withdrew. He looked up at Castiel, who was standing over him with a quizzical expression.

  “You are perfectly comfortable on a horse. Falling from that at speed would cause equally serious injuries. What is it about this that you dislike?”

  Dean shrugged. He wasn’t about to explain to a stranger

(beautiful stranger who hates you)

that static heights made him feel exposed, trapped, with nowhere to run. How he sometimes dreamed of flying and those dreams always ended in a plummet, trailing fire and feathers. He hadn’t even told Sam about those.

  “That’s a fantastic view, man,” Sam said, shading his eyes. “Can you see the whole settlement from up here?”

  “Not quite.” Castiel turned to join him on the edge of the platform. “Billie and Tessa prefer to live underground. They feel safer that way. But there is Gabriel’s house, and Meg and Lilith’s next to it, and Ruby’s on the end. Fergus and his son live down along the bank - you can just see the chimney smoke. Cain lives a bit further out, he doesn’t particularly like company and the beehives do better if they’re not disturbed. And Balthazar has the watch house at the other end of Purgatory, in that tall oak tree. Can you see?”

  “Got it. So, what, you two are the spotters?”

  “Broadly speaking.” Castiel picked up one of the saddlebags and swung it easily over his shoulder. “We have never been hunted, not this far into the forest, but there is a plan in place for when that day comes.” Sam’s interest vanished. He looked down and shuffled his feet. Castiel cocked his head. “What is it?”

  “That’s what we were doing,” Dean said, climbing to his feet and leaning back against the wall of the treehouse. “When we first met you. Elder Gordon’s heard rumours of a place out here. He sent everyone out to gather intel. Don’t worry, we didn’t say anything and no one else found squat.”

  Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Do you think that will be sufficient for your Elder Gordon to dismiss the rumours?”

  Dean sucked at his teeth. “Maybe? I dunno. But he just lost two of his best hunters and this place is way further than any sane person’s gonna go.”

  “Nevertheless, I should tell Benny.”

Castiel pushed open the low door and ducked inside. Dean and Sam followed, Sam grabbing his bags on the way. The treehouse was much roomier than Dean had expected. The tree’s trunk filled the centre, polished smooth, and branches jutted off from it to form the beams of the uneven roof. The whole space was roughly round, with nothing dividing the cooking area from the living quarters. Small square windows were covered with tied leather blinds to keep the draft out, and storm lanterns hung from metal hooks. Castiel lit one and looked around with a sigh. It was, Dean realised with faint surprise, a bit of a mess. Several pans had clearly fallen from hooks onto the floor and a wooden bowl was face-down in a spill of blueberries. Cushions were strewn about the place and a blanket was wrapped around the claw-foot of a small cast-iron stove. Castiel dropped the saddlebags and went over to what looked like a pallet-bed pushed up under a window. He pushed a hand into the bedding, which squelched.

  “Guess the storm got in,” Dean said.

  Castiel turned his attention to the leather blind. “This tie must have snapped in the wind. It could be worse. Last winter a tree fell through Kali’s roof. That is when she moved in with my brother.” He started gathering the sodden blankets. “Actually, her house is still empty. Repairs that extensive take resources, and nobody needed it in the end. You should ask her if you can have it.”

  “That’s an awesome idea,” Sam said. “Dean’s great with his hands.”

  Castiel’s eyelids flickered and he cleared his throat. “Well, you can set up on the floor over there for the time being. I will put up a blanket to give you some privacy later. First I must get these hung out to dry.”

He ducked back outside onto the platform. Sam pushed a roughly-made wooden chest to one side slightly and began laying out his bedroll. Dean looked around thoughtfully. The place was nice enough but filled with drafts. The wall and floor joins weren’t great quality with lots of gaps that let the air in. It wouldn’t surprise him if Castiel was always getting splinters, too, although his healing whammy at least meant they wouldn’t turn septic. The furniture, too, was all rough-and-ready stuff. No craftsmanship to it, no homeliness. There was a lot he could do to improve it, make everything much more comfortable.

But this wasn’t his home. It wasn’t his place.

He unrolled his bedding next to Sam and, when Castiel came back in, he didn’t say anything.


	13. Chapter 13

Sam insisted on speaking to Kali that afternoon, saying he didn’t want to impinge on Castiel’s hospitality any longer than they had to. Dean gritted his teeth and made it back down the rope ladder without disgracing himself. They followed Castiel’s directions to a low shed downriver from Purgatory, where they found a formidably elegant woman with dark skin and darker hair up to her elbows in a butchered deer. She spared them the briefest of glances before returning her attention to the entrails.

  “What?”

  Sam took a step forward, eager puppy eyes deployed. “Hi, I’m Sam Winchester -”

  “I know.”

  “We, um, we got here last -”

  “I know.”

  “Um…” He looked imploringly at Dean, who shook his head and took pity on his little brother.

  “Cas said you got a place you ain’t using.”

  “And?”

  “Can we fix it up, move in?”

  Kali stopped what she was doing for a moment and fixed Dean with a stare that was made more intimidating by the streak of blood across her cheekbone. “Why are you here?”

  “Uh… to ask your permission?”

  “No. Here. Purgatory. You do not belong.”

  Dean folded his arms, pushing his sleep-deprived temper down. “Well, I guess that’s gonna change.”

  Kali raised a perfect eyebrow. “You think you can walk in and the world will just adapt to you. Normals, I swear, the sheer arrogance.”

  “Look, lady, you gonna let us fix your roof or what?”

  “Dean!” Sam hissed.

  “Gabriel seems to like Sam, for some reason. And I can’t abide waste.” She looked back down at the butchered deer, a clear dismissal. “The ruin is his.”

Dean bristled but Sam was pawing at his shoulder and they had what they wanted, so he let himself be tugged away. Anyway, it wasn’t like he’d expected to be welcomed with open arms. Benny’d warned him. His ego could handle a little cold-shouldering, it was definitely better than the reception any of Purgatory’s inhabitants could expect at a Normal settlement. 

(Walking into Ellen’s bar, valued and respected, a chair ready for him…)

He followed Sam back upriver and along a narrow track, until they came to Kali’s old hut. It was small - two rooms, with the dividing interior wall and main roof support destroyed by a fallen pine - and nearly overgrown with brambles. The tree trunk had been removed, probably chopped up for firewood, but the tangle of roots jutted up next to the wall. The door hung askew on rusted, broken hinges. Sam gave a low whistle and Dean rubbed at the back of his head.

  “Guess we’re gonna be crashing at Cas’ for a while yet.”

  Sam squeezed one shoulder through the entrance. “There’s a fair bit of moss and water damage in here but the floor looks solid enough.”

  “Whoop-de-fucking-do,” Dean muttered. 

  His brother retreated from the ruin. “What?”

  He cleared his throat. This was what Sammy needed. “Here’s what we’re gonna do…”

Sam retrieved their leather gloves from the treehouse whilst Dean went begging to Benny for a couple of tools. They spent the rest of the day hacking the brambles back into submission, and heaving the last of the tree out of the way. By the time the light was fading, they’d knocked down the last bits of roof that were still clinging on and covered the place in tarp. Dean tossed the last bit of debris through the door and straightened his back with a groan. 

  “Okay, I’m calling it for today.”

Sam wiped the dripping sweat from his face and followed him outside. They found Castiel standing on the path, surveying their handiwork. 

  “You appear to have made good progress,” he said, eyeing the stones weighing down the edges of the tarp. “Though that will not be sufficient if the weather is bad tonight.”

  “Don’t smell like rain,” Dean said, tugging off his gloves.

  “If you did not ask Kali’s permission, there will certainly be another storm.”

  Sam laughed. “Don’t worry, we checked with her first.”

  “Yeah, she’s scary. Doesn’t seem like Gabriel’s type. I figrued he’d go for the fun chicks.”

  Castiel cocked his head. “What makes you think you know anything about my brother?”

  Dean felt abruptly exhausted. He turned away. “I’m gonna hit the hay.”

  “Wait,” Sam protested. “We haven’t eaten yet.”

  “You c’n have mine, Sammy.”

  “There is plenty to go around,” Castiel said behind him. “Benny is an excellent trapper.”

  “Thanks but no thanks.”

  Sam ran the couple of steps it took to catch up. “You okay, dude?”

  “I’m fine, man.” Dean forced a smile. “Go make friends with the locals. It’ll probably be easier without me cramping your style. Catch you later.”

He gave Sam a little push back towards Castiel and trudged back to the treehouse, head down to avoid anyone’s gaze. There was no one to see his struggle with the ladder this time, or his moment of breathlessness at the top. He crawled under his blanket feeling cold, achy and empty. When Sam came back an hour later, smelling of venison, he pretended to be asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean spent the next several days working on the house, keeping his head down and his mind occupied. Several people came past during that time, and he let Sam handle the talking. They weren’t interested in him anyway. He got into a rhythm that meant minimal interaction - up well before dawn to go hunting, dumping his catch outside Kali’s shed, then manual labour until sundown. Sam brought breakfast and lunch - Dean ask where he got it from - and dinner was a piece of jerky purloined from the communal larder. He hardly saw Castiel, beyond a glimpse of bedhead as he snuck past in the morning, and he didn’t talk to anyone outside of Sam. And that was fine. He preferred it that way.

By the end of the week they’d cut a new central beam for the roof and got it into place. Sam had argued for thatch - they could cut all the grass they needed in a day, let it dry whilst they worked on something else, and then lay it in another day - but Dean was holding out for wooden tiles. It meant carving every tile and peg, which would take longer, but it was much more durable and weather-proof. In the end he’d pulled rank (who fixed up our old roof, Sammy? Was it you? Didn’t think so) and sat in the sunlight as he roughed out tiles, whilst Sam stripped lichen and mould off the walls inside and pretended not to sulk.

  “You boys have made some fine progress,” came a friendly drawl from the path.

  Dean looked up at Benny, who had his hands on his hips as he surveyed the place. “Don’t wanna impose on Cas longer’n we have to.”

  “Way I hear it, you’re never there.” Benny strolled closer. “You cutting tiles? That’s a skill, brother.”

  Dean shrugged. “Easy enough to learn.”

  “I’m fixing up the goat shed’s roof tomorrow. Thatch has been drying all week. You reckon you could give me a hand?”

  Dean opened his mouth to decline but Sam appeared with a grin. “That’s a great idea.”

  “We got work to do,” Dean protested.

  “We can take a day. Cas offered to show me the best fishing spots around here.” Sam lowered his voice to a hiss. “Go make friends, Dean.”

  Benny’s lips twitched. “Did I mention my hearing’s pretty sharp?”

Which is how Dean ended up straddling a beam over some agitated goats whilst a freakishly strong man threw bales of straw at him. It wasn’t his favourite way ever to spend a day - thatch had a knack of getting places it  _ really  _ didn’t belong - but Benny turned out to be a genuinely nice guy. He was easy to talk to, and it helped that he didn’t seem to resent Dean’s presence in Mutantville at all. When Dean mentioned this, he got a lazy smile and half a shrug.

  “Never saw the point of hating.”

  “No bad experiences with Normals, then?”

  “Well, sure. Nobody ends up here without a run-in. But I ain’t a hypocrite.” 

  Dean grunted, tying down the next section of straw. “That puts you way ahead of the curve.”

  “Give ‘em a chance to know you,” Benny said. He shot Dean a sideways glance from under the peak of his cap. “You ain’t exactly been sociable yourself. Some folks reckon that means you think yourself better'n them.”

Dean thought about that for a while, hands busy. He hadn’t considered how his behaviour might look to others. And he should probably give a little thought to the future. They were likely going to be stuck here for the forseeable. He couldn’t be a social exile forever, he’d go mad. Maybe some of the other locals would be as open-minded as Benny. He ought to at least give them a try. 

They finished thatching well before dusk, and went to a pebble beach below the riverbank to splash the dirt from their faces. Then Benny produced a leather wineskin and held it out.

  “Fancy a drop?”

  Dean cocked an eyebrow. “Where’d you make this stuff?”

  “Cain’s our resident brewer. He lives up the track past your place. Not much of a one for company but he makes a mean drink.”

  Dean pulled the cork and took a sip. A rich, spicy sweetness burst across his tongue and he choked a little. “What the fuck is that?”

  Benny gave a belly-laugh, slapping his knee. “Brother, you should see your face!”

  “That’s not wine, you dick, what is it?” Dean sniffed at the mouth of the skin. “Smells like… I dunno. Honey?”

  “It’s mead.” Benny took it out of his hands and tipped his head back in a long draught. “Nectar of the gods.”

  “Don’t you need bees for that? I thought they went extinct in the Cold.”

  “Cain kept his hives safe, don’t ask how.” Benny leaned back on both elbows and crossed his ankles, staring out across the river. “He’s been set up out here since before. Purgatory formed around him, really. He ain’t a Blasphemy like the rest of us. Just older’n stone. You should talk to him. He’s a grumpy bastard, I reckon you two’d get on.”

  “If he’s responsible for this stuff, I’ll make it a priority.” 

Dean took another sip and closed his eyes, savouring the rich taste and the sting of alcohol behind it. Fuck, he’d missed booze. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like, that warmth seeping down through tired muscles, easing tension. Ellen’s moonshine had been rough as sand, though. This went down so easy and left sweetness on the tongue. 

They traded the skin back and forth for a little while in peaceable silence. Dean felt himself mellowing, grateful to Benny for his ability to be quiet as well as to talk. Not everything had to be said - that was something Sammy didn’t seem to get. Sometimes it was possible to communicate just by occupying the same space.

  As dusk began to paint the sky red and gold, Benny stretched and stood up. 

  “I should get on home, before Andrea tans my hide.” He shook the skin and tossed it to Dean. “Ain’t much left. Finish it and fill her up for me.”

  “Sure thing, man. Thanks.”

  “See you, brother.”

The big man jumped up the bank and disappeared. Dean took another mouthful and gazed at the darkening sky. Was Bobby watching the same colours? What about his dad? What were they doing, back home? About this time, Ellen would be lighting the lamps whilst Jo and Ash poured out. Charlie’d be shooing the goats back in, bells jangling. Fuck, he missed them. The people, not the goats. Obviously. He missed his bed too, and the chair with the wobbly leg he always sat in at the bar, and cooking a bucket of stew whilst Sammy chopped vegetables. He missed his life. There hadn’t been a moment’s hesitation when he came with Sam and even now, in this cold uncomfortable place, he didn’t regret it. He belonged with his brother. But he missed what he’d given up.

His train of thought was disrupted by movement in his peripheral vision. A woman was standing on the beach watching him, her long blonde hair fluttering in the breeze. She had a triangular face and cold eyes, but she smiled when he looked at her and came closer. 

  “You’re Sam’s brother.”

  “That’s me, sweetheart.” He raised the mead invitingly. “Fancy a drink?”

  “That isn’t yours.”

  “It’s on loan. From a friend.” He’d made a friend. He felt warm at the thought. Sammy would be proud. “My name’s Dean. What’s yours?”

  “Lilith.”

  “Pull up a seat, Lilith.” He waved at the pebbles and laughed at his own joke. 

  “Where’s Sam?”

  “Fishing.” Dean nodded at the river. “For fish.” With  _ his  _ new friend Castiel. Because he was all grown up now and didn’t need a big brother. Dean didn’t like that thought. He took another swig, chasing after warmth.

  “Are you drunk?” 

  “No.”

  “You are drunk.”

  “A little bit.”

  “You’re on your own, sitting in the dark, drunk. Oh, this is too easy.”

Dean frowned. It wasn’t the first time he’d been called easy but he hadn’t said anything even slightly suggestive to this Lilith chick. She wasn’t his type, anyway. He liked dark hair, kinda mussed, and kind eyes. Blue, for preference. The eyes right in front of him now were, well, they were blue but so pale they were almost colourless. He wanted bright blue, like sapphires or sunlight on water or some shit. 

Huh, she was  _ right  _ in front of him. Straddling his knees and leaning in. He recoiled slightly at the uninvited invasion of his personal space. 

  “Hey, uh, no offence but…”

  “Hush,” she said, nostrils flaring.

Dean’s vocal chords seized. He gaped like a guppy for a few seconds, instincts stirring sluggishly under the blanket of booze. Lilith slid one hand over his ribs and drew the dagger from the back of his belt. She held it between them on an open palm. Her nostrils flared again.

  “Take this and slit your wrists.”

Dean reached for it, fingers curling slowly around the worn grip. The weight was so familiar, an extension of his arm. He always kept the blade honed winter-sharp. His skin parted under it like silk, blooming red and pain a second after. It was beautiful, in its way. He watched in fascination as the long drips spilled over and down, painting the pebbles. The second wrist was harder - his fingers slipped a little, tearing slightly, and the blade went deep. White pain lanced up his arm and into his brain, disrupting the dream. He stared at Lilith, muscles bunching.

  “Stay.” She rose smoothly to her feet and walked away. 

Dean lay back and watched the dusk fade as blood pooled under his hips.


	15. Chapter 15

  “DEAN!”

Sam’s panic cut through Dean’s drifting consciousness. He instinctively kicked up towards it.

He was cold. So cold. And heavy. Even his eyelids were too much to move.

  “Dean, please, wake up. CAS, GET OVER HERE. Oh god, there’s so much blood. Dean, wake up, you have to wake up. C’mon, you don’t get to check out on me now.”

Sam was afraid. Sam needed him. He tried again but his eyes wouldn’t budge. He groaned with effort and it made the tiniest sound.

  “Dean! Cas, he’s alive. Please, you have to…”

Heat grew rapidly on his shoulder, cutting through the cold, spreading like wildfire through his veins, until his whole body was trembling with it, burning white-hot, roaring, hurting, but the pain was alive, he was alive and alight and screaming, eyes open and wild, spine bowing as Castiel dragged him back from death.

  The man was kneeling beside him, eyes blazing blue. He tightened his vice-like grip on Dean’s shoulder. “Breathe, Dean. You need to breathe.”

Dean gasped, sucking night air into his lungs. Sam held him down, one massive paw on his chest, as he tried to sit up.

  “Take it easy, man. Let Cas finish.”

The flood was already subsiding. Dean gave a shaky nod and stayed down whilst the skin on his forearms closed up. At last the light faded from Castiel’s eyes and he sat back breathless, looking drawn.

  “You will be weak for several days. You lost a lot of blood. And, um, that will probably scar.”

Dean rolled his head to look at where Castiel was gesturing. A red mark in the shape of a handprint stood out bright on his shoulder, burned clean through his tunic and onto his sleeve.

  “My apologies,” Castiel added, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

  “Dude, you just saved my life. I figure you get to sign your work.”

  “What the hell, Dean?!” Sam shoved him hard. “You thought you’d just cash out whilst I was off fishing? Are things so bad here? D’you have any idea what that’d do to me?”

  “Woah, easy, tiger. This wasn’t on me.”

  Sam’s mouth tightened. “The knife’s in your hand. Your knife.”

  Dean blinked at it. “It... seemed like a good idea at the time?”

  “No. No, you don’t get to turn this into a joke. This is so far from funny.” Sam dragged a hand roughly down his face in a way that Dean knew meant he was crying but fighting it.

  “I mean it, Sammy. It was weird. She told me to and, I dunno, it seemed like doing what she said was the only sensible course of action.”

  “She?”

Dean looked back to Castiel, who had gone even paler. His eyes were narrow under heavy brows and his voice had dropped at least half an octave. He looked, Dean thought succinctly, supremely pissed off.

  “Blonde bitch. Freaky eyes.”

  “Lilith.” Castiel was outright growling now. Dean tried to ignore what that did to the base of his spine.

  “That’s her.”

  Castiel got to his feet, fists clenching. “Benny must be notified immediately.”

  “Hey, before you get your smite on…” Dean gave up as Castiel took off at a stride, and turned to Sam. “So, how were the fish, bitch?”

  Sam made a pathetic attempt at a smile. “Caught you supper.”

  “Good, I’m starving. Nearly bleeding to death really works up an appetite.” Dean tried to push himself upright and fell back, head spinning. “Fuck.”

  “Lean on me.” Sam hauled him to his feet and propped him up with one arm over Sam’s neck.

  “This’d be a lot easier if you hadn’t insisted on growing those extra few inches. Selfish, Sammy, that’s what that was.”

They staggered slowly along the path towards Benny’s place, pausing often for Dean to catch his breath. The lights were blazing when they got there, angry voices carrying clearly through the window. Gabriel was propped up against the porch. He gave a low whistle as they stumbled up to him.

  “You look like something the cat threw up, Deano. I can kinda see why Cas is losing his rag in there.”

  “Thanks,” Dean said. “You gonna let us in?”

  “You sure you want to do that, boys?” Gabriel leaned towards them and lowered his voice. “This is going to be a shitshow. My advice? Stay out of it.”

  “Someone tried to kill my brother,” Sam said in a flat voice. “We’re already in it.”

  Gabriel shrugged and pushed open the door. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Castiel was standing in the middle of the living space with a murderous expression. His entire body was focused on Lilith, who had her back to the left-hand wall and was facing him down with a sneer. Benny leaned against the table, arms folded, face carefully blank.

  “...tried to murder my _guest_ ,” Castiel snapped. “I took this man under my roof, gave him my hospitality, and you dare -”

  “He’s just a Normal,” Lilith said with a shrug. “He doesn’t belong anyway.”

  Castiel took a deep breath and spoke with an awful control. “That is not your decision to make.”

  “And it doesn’t make it okay,” Sam said loudly.

He slid out from under Dean’s arm and straightened up to his full height. Sam usually hunched a little, like he was trying to fit in, trying not to intimidate through bulk. But he was scary as fuck now, Dean thought. He took a step towards Lilith, and then another, knuckles clenching white.

  “You tried to take my brother from me.” Sam’s voice was level, but when he spoke the furniture legs vibrated on the floor. Another step forwards. Lilith began to look nervous. “You waited until I wasn’t there, and you killed him.”

A lantern fell to the floor with a crash, snuffing the light out. Dean licked his lips nervously. Gabriel came up beside him.

  “Stop him,” he said softly.

  “Why?”

  Sam took another step. “You left him to die alone in his own blood. My brother. How dare you.”

  Lilith screamed as an invisible force slammed her back against the wall and dragged her two feet up. She clutched at her throat, wriggling and gasping. “Sam, please!”

  Gabriel sighed. “Because he might do something stupid.”

  “Holy shit.” Dean stared. “Sam? Let her down, Sam. You hear me?”

  Lilith’s face was rapidly turning puce. Her nostrils flared. “Let… me… go…”

  “Don’t try to mess with my head.” Sam raised a hand and tightened it, cutting her off. “Don’t you ever try to mess with anything of mine ever again.”

  “Sam! Put her down right now.”

  “Oh, for the love of…” Gabriel pushed forward to stand in Sam’s path and locked eyes with him. “Hey, Samsquatch, how’s it hanging?”

  “Get out of my way.”

  “No can do, Gigantor. You might wanna consider dialing it back juuust a touch. Starting to freak out your big bro over there.”

Sam turned his head slowly to look at Dean. For a second Dean could swear his eyes flashed gold in the lamplight. He swallowed and kept his voice low.

  “I’m okay, Sammy. I’m right here. Just… put her down, okay?”

  Sam blinked. “Okay,” he said at last.

Lilith crumpled abruptly to the floor, sobbing horribly. Castiel stuck his jaw out and didn’t go to help her.

  Benny sighed. “I really thought I was gonna get an early night.”


	16. Chapter 16

In the end it was Dean who broke first, unable to just stand and listen to Lilith’s choked sobs. He went over and reached down a hand.

  “C’mon, take a breath and get up.”

  “Don’t touch me,” she snapped, nostrils flaring.

Dean’s hand recoiled so fast his muscle twinged and he grunted. Sam snarled, shifting his weight forwards, and Gabriel slapped a hand on his chest.

  “Stand down, Samosaurus.”

  Benny jerked his head to move Dean out the way, and crouched in front of Lilith. “Fresh start,” he said gently. “That’s what this place is. No judgement on what folks mighta done before. Don’t matter who they are.”

  “He’s not one of us,” Lilith spat.

  “He’s in the exact same spot.” Benny paused and his voice took on a hard edge. “And he ain’t tried to kill anyone here.”

  Lilith looked up sharply and Gabriel drew an audible breath. “Benny?” he said on a rising note.

  The big man straightened up and folded his arms. “Y’all put me in charge for a reason, and it ain’t only for my cuddly side. We put a lot of effort into making this place work. I’ll not see it fall apart ‘coz someone can’t keep their murderous tendencies to themselves.”

  Lilith’s face went slack. “You’re… you’re kicking me out? Over a _Normal_?”

  “You in any way sorry for what you did? Then how can I trust you not to try it again? The three of you stay, I’m gonna end up with at least one body on my hands.”

Dean opened his mouth to suggest going instead - he didn’t belong, that had been made perfectly clear, and his presence was ripping through the place which wasn’t exactly a great feeling - but he caught Castiel’s eye and the words died in his throat. The healer was watching him steadily, blue pinning him in place. Dean felt a pressure building as he held the intense gaze. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He was distantly aware of the handprint throbbing on his shoulder.

The noise of Lilith scrambling to her feet broke the connection. Dean pulled away, palms sweating.

  “You can’t. You can’t! Where will I go? It’s a death sentence.”

  “You survived just fine before you got here,” Benny said calmly. “You got a knack for it. Now, I don’t need you gone right this moment but if you’re still here by dusk tomorrow, you and me’re gonna have a problem.” Lilith’s nostrils flared and Benny leaned in close. “You try any of that with me, Gabriel here’ll shut you down. And he won’t be gentle about it. Konprann?”

Lilith’s eyes flashed. She bared her teeth then pushed past Castiel, hard enough to make him stagger, and out. The door slammed shut behind her.

  Gabriel gave a low whistle. “Exciting stuff.”

  “Her cousin will not be happy,” Castiel said quietly.

  “I’ll handle Meg,” Benny said. “How you feeling, Dean?”

  “Oh, peachy.”

  “Dean should go home,” Castiel said firmly, and Dean’s stomach turned over.

_(Go home, Dean, go back to Lawrence, you’re not wanted here)_

  “He has lost a lot of blood," Castiel continued. "He needs to eat something then lie down.” 

It took a long second for Dean to realise that he meant the treehouse - Cas’ home - and suddenly he could breathe again. It was followed by a wave of dizziness that made his knees wobble. Then Sam was there, gripping his bicep.

  “Sounds good,” he managed. “Ladder could be interesting though.”

  “You can use the loading net,” Castiel said, moving close. His fingers curled under Dean’s free elbow and Dean couldn’t look away from them. Tendrils of heat ran up his arm, raising goosebumps.

  “Okay,” Gabriel said loudly, clapping his hands together. “I think that’s about as much excitement as I can handle for one night. Benny, kudos on the cajones. Cas, take him home and try not to break him. Samwise…” He stopped in front of Sam and his expression changed. “You and I should talk. That’s a powerful gift, kid. Time to put the training wheels on before you do someone a serious injury.”

  As he left, Dean turned to Benny whilst carefully avoiding Castiel’s gaze. “Listen, man, maybe I should go instead.”

  “Dean,” Castiel growled in his ear, and the shiver ran right down his spine.

  Benny shook his head. “Told you earlier I ain’t a hypocrite. You done nothing wrong. Besides, this place needs two strong pairs of hands a whole lot more than one fussy pair. Sure, there’s likely to be some fall-out, but that’s my problem. Go on, get along to bed.”

  “Doctor’s orders,” Castiel said with a small smile.

Dean blamed his sudden lightheadedness on blood loss.


	17. Chapter 17

Castiel insisted that Dean take his bed for the night. Dean objected but, honestly, he was feeling pretty groggy and a blanket on floorboards just wasn’t as appealing as a full-on nest. Besides, it turned out Castiel could get pretty bossy when he had his doctor’s hat on. Dean didn’t find that a turn-on.

He didn’t.

His eyes were closed before his head even hit the pillow. His limbs were aching and heavy with tiredness, and the handprint on his shoulder throbbed like a burn. All he wanted to do was sleep. But the smell of Castiel surrounded him, hints of salt and heather and a sweet overtone that Dean’s nose couldn’t name. The scent wrapped around him, warm and close, teasing him with a welcome he knew wasn’t real. His muscles relaxed into it as his pulse beat a little faster, and he swallowed against a watering mouth. 

  “Is he gonna be okay?” Sam whispered on the other side of the room.

  “He will be fine,” Castiel said, barely audible over the creaking branches. “He just needs to rest for a day or so. He was… not well when we found him. That much healing takes a lot of energy.”

  “What’s with the burn mark? That didn’t happen when you fixed his leg, before.”

  Castiel was quiet for a while. Dean strained to listen. “What I do,” he said at last, “what we all do, it has to come from somewhere. Benny believes it is a biological mutation in response to environmental triggers.”

  “Right,” Sam said with muted excitement. “Post-war poisoning. That’s what I thought.”

  “I have a different theory. You might even call it an article of faith. These are hard times, and survival is by no means assured. But I believe God still loves His children. So a few - a very few - are granted the ability to perform miracles. To help.”

  “But… but the holy writ says we’re Blasphemies.”

  “It was written by men, not God,” Castiel said levelly. “They may call us what they please. When I heal, I can feel Him moving through me to touch the souls of others. The greater the miracle, the stronger the touch.”

  “So, what, you think that’s God’s handprint on Dean?” Sam sounded less sceptical than Dean expected.

  “My handprint. God’s grace.”

  “And when I threw Lilith against the wall…”

  “God can only give you the strength,” Castiel said. “How you use it is up to you.”

Dean desperately wanted to hear the rest but his thoughts were so fuzzy and the bed so soft. He drifted off to the comforting rumble of Sam and Castiel talking.

When he opened his eyes again, he was in the Cage. The world was silent, shadowed, strange-edged. Dean sat up and looked around for Sam. The rope hung from the bars but his brother wasn’t there. Relief washed through him. Sammy had got out. He was free. 

He reached a hand out slowly and pushed at the Cage door. It swung smoothly open on oiled hinges and he took a cautious step through. His boot sounded dully on the dirt floor and something moved at the far end of the barn. A tall figure, turning to face him. Dean frowned.

  “Cas?”

  “Hello Dean.”

  “What’re you doing in Lawrence?”

  “I invited you into my home. It is polite to return the favour.”

  Dean walked over and gripped his upper arms urgently. “If they catch you here, they’ll kill you. I gotta get you out.”

  Cas smiled at him and his breath faltered. “You cannot save everyone, my friend.”

  “Dean,” Anna said behind him.

He spun round. She was standing in front of the open doors, drenched in moonlight. Her hair shone amber. Blood dripped darkly from her wrists, vanishing before it hit the ground. 

  “I’m sorry,” he choked. “Anna, I’m sorry.”

  “I always knew Sam would come first. Sam always comes first.” 

Her eyes were very wide. She looked so pale and young. So fragile. She stretched out an arm and was suddenly very close. She took Dean’s hands in hers. They were cold to the touch, draining the warmth out of him. Her blood smeared across his palms and soaked into the skin, slick and clinging. He tried to pull back but her fingers were iron-strong. She leaned in close, pressing her icy cheek to his, and hissed.

  “Thou shalt not covet.”

A burning touch landed on his shoulder, and the heat clashed against the chill in his flesh. Castiel casually pulled Dean and Anna apart. She stumbled backwards and was gone. Dean turned to face Castiel, who held up his right hand curiously. Blood began to drip from his wrist and terror pierced Dean’s throat.

  “Cas, no…”

  “Healer, heal thyself.” He wrapped his left palm over the wound and his eyes blazed. A long bloody gash opened up along his left wrist.

  “I broke you,” Dean whispered, eyes filling. “I break everything.”

  “This is your problem, Dean.” Castiel’s voice went deep, echoing like a well. Light radiated from his face like a halo, sending the shadows rushing backwards in two great ragged sweeps up the barn wall. Blood streamed from his wrists but he was smiling. “You have no faith.”

Dean flinched back…

… and woke with a hammering pulse, sweating into the blankets. There was an intense pressure in his groin from a serious case of morning wood. Sunlight streamed through a gap in the leather blind, straight into his face. On the other side of the treehouse, the two bedrolls were neatly folded against the wall. 

  Dean ran a trembling hand down his face and took a deep breath. “What the fuck?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, this was kind of an experimental chapter that wrote itself without my pre-planning and is a bit weird because dreams generally are. I hope it works!


	18. Chapter 18

There were footsteps on the platform outside and Castiel ducked into the treehouse, blinking at the sudden dimness.

  “Dean, are you alright?”

  Dean shifted slightly to make sure the blankets were piled high over his crotch. “Um… yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m fine, Cas. Just a weird dream.” He rubbed both hands vigorously over his scalp, forcing himself fully awake. “Where’s Sam?”

  “Working on the house.” 

Castiel pulled out a wooden plate and swiftly chopped an apple into quarters, throwing the core into a nearby bucket. He added a large roll piled with goats cheese and brought it over to Dean, who looked at it blankly.

  “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Castiel said. 

  “Did you just make me breakfast in bed?” Dean’s mouth said, before checking in with his brain.

  Castiel squinted slightly. “Is that a problem? You shouldn’t be exerting yourself.”

Dean bit his tongue hard before he said something stupid about bed-based exertions, and took the plate. He shoved a slice of apple into his mouth, and nearly choked on it as Castiel placed a hand on his forehead.

  “Your colour is up but you don’t appear to be running a fever.”

  Dean managed to swallow and cleared his throat. “Uh, Cas? Personal space?”

  “My apologies.” The hand withdrew instantly, leaving a tingling patch on Dean’s skin. “How are you feeling?”

_ Horny _ , Dean thought. “I’m fine. Seriously. No reason to stay in bed.”

  “I’m afraid I must insist,” Castiel said firmly, and Dean was forced to casually move the plate over his lap. “At least for today. Your body’s resources were severely depleted. I understand that you are… that you do not like to take things easy, but if you attempt any kind of strenuous activity you will probably trigger a collapse. And I think you would like that even less.”

Dean’s thoughts tripped over ‘strenuous activity’ and landed on the shape of Castiel’s mouth. It was the most he’d ever heard the man say at once and every word was beautifully pronounced. He wondered where Castiel had come from, before Purgatory, and why he sounded so different to the casual drawl Gabriel affected. Two Blasphemies in one family - what had that been like? Those blue eyes were older than they should be. They’d suffered. Well, everyone suffered in the Cold, but Dean wished there was some way to lighten the shadows that hovered over Castiel’s face.

He realised, quite abruptly, that he’d been staring in silence for several seconds longer than was normal in a conversation. With an effort he pulled his gaze away.

  “Whatever you say, Doc.” He took a huge bite of bread to stop himself talking, and chewed with bulging cheeks.

  Castiel blinked. Then he stood up. “Good. I should take the boat out now. Help yourself to food and water. Try to sleep as much as you can.”

He grabbed a tattered brown coat from a peg and ducked through the doorway. Dean let out a long breath through his nose. Sam would be laughing himself into stitches if he’d seen that.

  “So fucking smooth, Winchester.”

Dean glanced instinctively towards Sam’s stuff and noticed his wood-carving tools were still in their roll by the saddlebags. At least Sam couldn’t accidentally open up a vein with a chisel. Seriously, the kid could be a real klutz when it came to that kind of fine work. If he came back for lunch, maybe Dean could persuade him to bring some planks up. Surely shaping roof tiles whilst sitting out on the platform counted as taking it easy? In the meantime - Dean looked around the treehouse with a slow smile - there was plenty to keep him occupied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mainly inexpert and accidental flirting. Sorry - more will happen soon!


	19. Chapter 19

A little before dusk, Dean was set up at the foot of the tree with a pile of wood shavings in his lap and an almost-finished coat-hook in his hands. He’d set up a neat fire and tripod within reach and a venison stew was bubbling away, courtesy of a large metal pot on loan from Gabriel in return for some of the results.

He looked up as a shadow fell across him but his smile slid away. Instead of Sam or Cas, he was the subject of narrow-eyed scrutiny from a curly-haired woman with a full mouth that twisted at the corners.

  “Look at you,” she drawled. “All domesticated.”

  Dean adjusted his grip on the whittling knife. “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Meg. And you’re the infamous Dean. Everyone’s talking about you.”

  “Yeah? What are they saying?”

  She raised a blade-sharp eyebrow and put her hands in her pockets. “That the Normals are colonising Purgatory. You show up and all of a sudden the freaks are getting exiled again.”

  “Not my call.”

  “Oh, Benny’s already had an earful. But it was your fault.”

  “She tried to kill me.”

  “You have no idea what your kind tried to do to her.”

  Dean carefully swept his thighs clear and stood up. “You friends with Cas?”

  “You could say that.” She smiled, all teeth. “I shake the branches with the little tree-topper from time to time.”

  Dean felt a cold weight at the base of his throat. “So… you and him?”

  “Don’t let his holier-than-thou, close-mouthed attitude fool you. What that man can do with his tongue is fucking sinful.”

Dean was saved from trying to dredge up an answer by the sound of running footsteps. Castiel came to a panting halt, hair ruffled and cheeks flushed, looking anxiously between them.

  “Speak of the devil,” Meg said, eyes glinting.

  “Dean, are you alright?” Castiel said in a low voice.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Meg, what are you doing here?”

  “I thought your place might be cramped, what with the unwanted lodgers. You’re welcome to bed down at mine. Especially now I’ve got it all to myself.”

  Castiel inclined his head. “Thank you for the offer, but I have duties as a host. And my guests are not unwanted.”

  She shrugged. “Suit yourself. But don’t lose sight of who your friends are, Castiel.”

She sauntered off and Castiel turned to look Dean over urgently.

  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  “Dude, quit fussing. I told you already.”

  “I was concerned she might want some manner of restitution. Meg is Lilith’s cousin.”

   _And your lover_ , Dean wanted to say but couldn’t. Castiel’s gaze was a current on his skin, raising the hairs. He could feel the absent weight of those elegant hands, smell the sharp clean sweat, and he wanted. It caught him under the ribs, hard enough to inhale on. Every muscle tensed, ready to step forward into Castiel's space, crowding their bodies close until the only air to breathe was each other's. _Fuck's sake, pull it together._ He dug his nails hard into the palm and stepped away, turning his back to put the knife down.

  "You were supposed to take it easy today," Castiel said behind him, and for just a flicker of a second he sounded like Sam, reproach made liquor-warm with affection.

_(the hard heat of hands on skin that held close because they cared, but not like Sam, not like Anna, not like anyone, and that was a dangerous thought, unaffordable)_

  "This ain't exactly taxing," he said gruffly, all but shoving the coat peg into Castiel's chest before bending over the fire.

  "You made this for me?" Castiel said, sounding bewildered.

  "You were using a twig, dude. Did some home improvements too. Nothing major. Just, y'know, patching holes and hanging cupboard doors properly and shit."

He stirred the stew, scrunching his nose as the steam wafted up. Not his finest work, but the cupboard was pretty bare of all the herbs that really brought flavours out. Herbs required a garden. Maybe he could look into that once the house was finished. Food without herbs was, well, functional and obviously that came first. But a little luxury went a long way.

It dawned on him that Castiel hadn't said anything. Fuck, had he overstepped? He'd just assumed the guy would be okay with getting his place fixed up but he was very private. Perhaps it was too invasive. He turned, spoon in hand and mouth opening on the start of a stumbling apology.

  Castiel was staring down at the slender curve of wood, cheekbones a hectic red. "No one has ever done anything like this for me," he said quietly.

  Dean blinked, feeling stupid. “It’s just a peg.”

  “It’s a thought, and time and skill invested. Unasked for.” Castiel finally looked up and his eyes were blue as a jay’s wing. “Because you wanted to.”

Any other place, any other person, Dean could have made that line work for him. He’d done more with less, everyone walking away loose-limbed and satisfied at the end of the night. But with Castiel’s intent expression pinning him in place, he couldn’t think of a single word in response. A distant part of his brain whispered that was a bad sign.

_(I want to kiss you)_

  He opened his mouth. “I w-”

  “Hey, you cooked!” Sam said cheerfully behind him.

Dean nearly swallowed his tongue, and did not turn to give his brother a ding round the ear. Sam bent over the stew and inhaled loudly.

  “Awesome, I’m starving.”

  “You’re always starving.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been working hard today. All the roof beams are up and I got the first batch of tiles on. Did you bring bowls down already? Oh, there they are. Here you go, Cas. I know you said you liked my cooking but Dean’s is way better. He made all the family meals before.”

  Dean took the bowl out of Sam’s hand and ladled stew into it. “Cas liked your cooking?”

  “Sam’s skills in the kitchen are far superior to my own,” Castiel said.

  “That bread roll this morning was damn tasty.”

  “Gabriel’s work.” Castiel handed his bowl over. “He does the baking for everyone, as Kali does the butchery.”

  “And who makes the candlesticks?” Dean asked, with a grin.

  Castiel frowned. “Cain makes the candles but no one spends their whole time making candlesticks. There aren’t enough people in Purgatory for it to be a full-time occupation.”

  “It’s a children’s rhyme, dude,” Dean said. “You know? The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker. Rub a dub dub, three men in a tub?”

  “I don’t know any children’s rhymes.” Castiel sat down, neatly cross legged, and took a mouthful of stew. His eyes widened. “This is excellent,” he said, muffled.

  Sam laughed, sprawling on one elbow. “Talking with your mouth full, Cas, classy.”

  Dean flicked a drop of gravy at him and settled back against the tree trunk. “Coz you’d know all about class.”

  “My pinky’s out. That’s as high-class as we get.”

  “My apologies, Master Samuel. I’ll make sure the napkins are out next time.”

  “It’s Sam.”

Hot food in his belly, little brother safe and well, and teasing as he lay in the last of the day’s sun. Dean let the moment wash over him, strange in its contentment, fleeting and ephemeral but all the more powerful for that. This was what got him through the rest, these jewelled memories stored carefully in the attic of his mind, their echoing warmth lending strength when it was needed. He took another mouthful (needed sage, rosemary too if he could find some) and let the richness of the meat grow on his tongue.

  “You don’t have to,” Castiel said, eyes on his bowl. “Cook again, I mean. You are a guest.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Cas, we pretty much got dumped on you. You ain’t responsible for looking after us.” _You can go sleep with your girl and I can't stop you._

  “That is the host’s role. The duties between host and guest are some of the oldest agreed manners in civilised history.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t think civilised manners carry much water these days.”

  “On the contrary, they have never been more important. Anyone can behave well when life is easy. It is the mark of true strength to continue doing so when life is hard.”

Dean stared at him, this strange hypnotic man that believed in a god whose holy writ condemned him and talked about manners like they were the foundations of civilization long after the nuclear apocalypse had left such things in ruins. He was a contradiction, nonsensical and exotic, so quiet on the surface and a bonfire beneath. The handprint on Dean’s shoulder throbbed.

  “But it’s not just the host, right?” Sam asked, chasing gravy around the bottom of his bowl. “Aren’t guests supposed to give gifts in return? I’m sure I read something about it in Bobby’s library.”

  “That is not necessary.”

  Dean coughed his throat clear. “Double or quits, Cas. Can’t have one without the other.”

  “Right,” Sam agreed. “So Dean’ll cook.”

  “And what about you, you freeloader?”

  “I provide the decent conversation.”

He grinned, all dimples, and Dean was too glad to speak. He contented himself with shoving a handful of wood shavings down the back of Sam’s shirt when he stood up to collect the bowls.


	20. Chapter 20

After a lot of argument and a fair amount of pouting, Dean persuaded Sam and Castiel that he was definitely well enough to get back to work the following day. Sam was a complete mother hen, fluttering anxiously whenever Dean picked up anything heavier than a nail, and after two days of fussing he'd had enough. 

  “Sam, would you fuck off and go fishing with Cas? You're driving me crazy.”

  Sam pulled face. “I'm not leaving you alone on a building site in your condition.”

  “My condition?! What, am I pregnant now?” Sam's expression didn't change and Dean put the hammer down with a little too much emphasis. “That’s it. I can’t work with you hovering over me like a moose with anxiety issues.”

  “Where are you going?” 

  “See if Benny needs a hand with anything.”

And he was. He really was. But that meant walking along the riverbank, past where the boat was pulled up on the pebble beach. Castiel was sat cross-legged in the bows with his shirt draped over the side. His head was bent over a fishing net spread across his lap, fingers dancing over the strands. The sun glinted golden across his shoulders and lit the fine dusting of hair that covered his pecs and ran down his muscled stomach to his navel. Dean missed a step, stumbling, and the noise brought Castiel’s head up. He lifted one hand in greeting and Dean changed course almost without realising. He leaned his elbows on the side of the boat and clasped his hands together so they wouldn’t reach out.

  “Hey, man. What’cha doing?”

  “I am checking the net for weak points or breaks before I go out.” He looked past Dean. “Where is your brother?”

  “At the house. He was fussing like you wouldn’t believe, so I left him to it.”

  “I would believe it. He cares about you a great deal.”

  Dean shrugged. “It’s always been him and me against the world, y’know? Our dad was… not the caring type. Not after Mom passed.”

  “I know. Sam told me your history whilst you were recovering. He said your father beat you sometimes.”

  Dean let out a long sigh, head dropping. “Aw, shit. He knew about that?”

  “You never fought back. It troubled him.”

  “We had a deal. Dad never touched him and I took it like a good little soldier.”

  “Why did you not tell your Elders?” 

  “I already knew Sammy was different. If they took us away from Dad, whoever we went to would pay more attention. Couldn’t afford for that to happen. Besides, I learned pretty quick how to take a hit.”

  “You shouldn’t have had to,” Castiel said with pain in his voice.

  “There’s a lot we shouldn’t have had to deal with. You more than me, I’m guessing.”

  Castiel looked back down at his busy hands, intent on the net. “Like Sam, I am fortunate in my brother. When we were caught, his abilities made it relatively easy for us to escape.”

  “He said something about dogs.”

  “Yes. Their minds are simpler. You might think that makes them easier to fool with illusions, but apparently it is not the case. We climbed a tree and Gabriel made us invisible to the human eye. After a day they gave up looking and set the trees on fire.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I healed our burns as they occurred, and we bit down on leather to keep from screaming,” Castiel said matter-of-factly.

  “Fucking hell, Cas.” Dean straightened up, feeling sick. 

  “They left when the fire went out. We travelled from settlement to settlement, begging or stealing, until we came here.”

  “I’m... “ Dean shook his head, grasping for words. “I’m so sorry.”

  Castiel looked up, eyes sharp. “I do not want your pity.”

  “But -”

  “What happened is in the past, and you were not one of those responsible. I have built a good life here. I deserve better than pity.”

  “I get that,” Dean said, grasping his shoulder. “I do. But it’s okay for your friends to be sad that you were hurting.”

  Castiel went outwardly still but Dean could feel the tension in his muscles, radiating heat. “Are we friends, Dean?”

  “Dude, you saved my life. Twice. And the first time you had no reason to think I was any better than those assholes with the dogs.” Dean gave him a little shake and his voice gentled involuntarily. “Yeah, Cas. We’re friends.”

God, his eyes were beautiful, and that mouth… Dean just wanted to lean into his space, pushing up against those acres of golden skin, and taste him. Cup the line of his jaw, trace the seam of his mouth, and lick into his warmth, until every sense was filled with him. His skin was so soft, sending tingles up Dean’s arm as his thumb rubbed slow circles into the hollow of Castiel’s collarbone. His lips parted a little, pupils spreading, and the side of the boat dug painfully into Dean’s belly. 

   With a sudden rush of panic Dean realised how far in he was leaning. He snatched his hand away and took a couple of hurried steps backwards, face burning.   “So, uh, I should let you get on with, y’know, bringing home the bacon. Fish. Whatever. I’m gonna go, um, see if Benny wants a hand. I mean, needs help with anything.”

  “He is going to the market today.” Castiel bent his head over the net, black hair obscuring his face. His voice was steady. “I am sure he would welcome your company.”

Dean knew a dismissal when he heard one. He swallowed against the tight hurt in his throat and turned away. 

_ You’re an idiot _ , he berated himself, heading up the track.  _ He’s got a girl. And even if he didn’t, why would he ever look at you? You’re a Normal, a hunter, only good at hurting things. Everything he isn’t. _

Benny’s door was open. He was at the table, packing the last few candles and jars of honey into a backpack when Dean knocked.

  “Morning, brother,” he said with a smile. 

  “Hi. Cas said you were heading to a market. Wondered if you could use a hand.”

  “That’s mighty kind, but I run fast. Don’t reckon you could keep up.”

  Dean shrugged. “Impala could use some exercise. Where are you headed?”

  “Topeka.” Benny shrugged on the backpack. “Well, I wouldn’t object to some help carrying things home, since you’re offering. You might have to catch up with me there though.”

  “Oh, I know you didn’t just insult my horse.”

  Benny grinned. “I’ll give you ten minutes to prep. Then it’s on.”

Since they’d been in Purgatory, Dean hadn’t ridden Impala anything like as much as usual and she was nearly jumping out of her skin. She sidled and tossed her head impatiently as Dean reined her in at Benny’s gate. The headman made a soothing noise and ran one broad hand gently over her nose.

  “She is beautiful,” he said, and threw a mischievous look up at Dean. “But me? I’m a freak of nature.” With that, he took off into the woods, inhumanly fast. He was out of sight in seconds.

  “You gonna let him talk to you like that, baby?” Dean said. 

He dropped his hands and Impala shot forward in Benny’s wake. The trees weren’t too dense to start with and she was able to keep up a decent speed. As they thickened, Dean reined her back a little. The race was one thing but he had no intention of letting her crash. He caught glimpses of Benny up ahead, still going strong. The man might be laid back but physically he was terrifying. 

When they finally reached the edge of the forest the sun was high overhead. Benny was a good five hundred yards ahead, running at an easy lope across the open ground. Dean grinned, crouched low in the saddle, and let Impala off the leash. She snorted, checked her footing once, and then opened up her stride. The turf thudded past in a blur, closing the gap. Then they were on Benny and past him, Dean letting out a triumphant shout. Impala’s powerful muscles bunched and thrust under her gleaming skin, running as if the whole world was hers to roam and nothing could stop her. 

The gates of Topeka grew closer and closer, a three-storey patchwork of old metal and barbed wire. Dean checked Impala, slowing her to a walk as he belatedly realised Benny couldn’t exactly run up to the gates without declaring to everyone watching that he was a Blasphemy. The important thing was that Dean had won the race. 

By the time Benny caught up, Dean had unsaddled Impala in the shade of the wall and was rubbing her down with a handful of grass.

  “Thought you might have gone inside and grabbed a couple of drinks,” Benny said, wiping his forehead. “All that exercise gives me a powerful thirst.”

  “You got all the goods,” Dean said. He looked up at the spikes sticking out from the parapet above. “Feels weird coming here without stuff to sell. I used to do a lot of the trading for Lawrence.”

  “Reckon the news of your arrest and escape will have travelled this far?”

  “Shit. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “News is currency, brother.”

  “Yeah.” Dean pulled at his mouth reluctantly. “Maybe I should wait for you out here.”

  “Better safe than sorry. I won’t be long.”

Benny headed for the gate. Dean finished rubbing Impala clean, let her reins hang down in front to keep her from running off, and settled himself comfortably against the saddle. He’d die before admitting it but he was feeling a little shaky after that ride. Maybe Sam had a point about massive blood loss taking more than a couple of days to recover from, even with Castiel’s mojo. 

He’d nearly kissed Castiel earlier. If the boat hadn’t been in the way… It was ridiculous. Dean didn’t pine over people. If they wanted him, great; if not, he shrugged and moved on. He didn’t repress the urge to push against their skin, just to touch. He didn’t think about them all the time. He definitely didn’t  _ pine _ . What had the man done to him? He touched the burn on his shoulder. Castiel’s hand was fractionally smaller than his. What would it feel like if it was holding him down, sliding over his throat, his jaw? Down his chest? Would he grip hard and tight, or loose and easy? Would he scratch, marking Dean up? Would he bite, nipping at pulse points and earlobes, leaning in to whisper -

  “Dean?”

Dean jolted out of his daydream, heart racing, and looked up in sick dread at the sight of Jo Harvelle standing in front of him with a shocked expression. 


	21. Chapter 21

Dean rose slowly to his feet. His hand wasn’t on his knife, but it stayed close. He kept his knees loose, ready to move fast, and took a couple of steps sideways so the sun was in Jo’s eyes more than his.

  “Hi.”

She raised both hands, spread wide and empty. Impala, recognising a familiar source of groomings, ambled forwards and butted her nose against Jo’s shoulder. The hunter curled her fingers under the broad jaw, scratching up past her cheek.

 “Hello, old girl. How’s life on the open road treating you?” She glanced across at Dean as she spoke to the horse, quick and sharp, assessing. “You getting enough to eat, hmm?”

  “We’re fine,” Dean said and jerked his head at the wall. “Here to trade?”

  “Yup. Have you been here this whole time?”

  “Passing through. Who’s with you?”

  “Just me. Where’s Sam?”

  “Not here.”

  Jo sighed. “I’m not the enemy, Dean. I came to get you when they arrested him, remember?”

  “I remember you shooting at my back.”

  “Yeah, to _miss_.”

  “Coulda been poor aim in bad light.”

  “Hey, fuck you, Winchester, you know I’m better than that.”

  He laughed at her insulted expression. “Yeah, I do. It’s good to see you, Jo.”

  “You too.” Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled back. “Didn’t think I would again. Are you boys doing okay?”

  “Could be a whole lot worse. How’s Bobby? Did he catch hell for letting us out?”

  “He had a stand-up shouting match with Elder Gordon and your dad in the middle of the bar. Mom kicked ‘em all out in the end. He’s off the Council but that’s as far as it went.”

  A small knot of tension in Dean’s stomach relaxed. “Ain’t like he was ever that bothered about being on it in the first place.”

  “True. But now there’s a voting block. Faith outweighs logic when it comes to decision-making. Mom says that always turns out bad in the long run.”

  He rubbed a hand roughly over his face. It wasn’t his problem any more. Couldn’t be. He had enough on his plate. “Get Rufus on the Council,” he said anyway. “He’s a superstitious old bastard, which Gordon’ll like, but he’ll vote with his head all the same.”

  Jo nodded, biting her lip. “Come back,” she said suddenly. “You didn’t do anything wrong, not really. You could come back with me. We need you.”

For five long seconds he thought about it. Thought about his stool in Ellen’s bar, and Garth and Charlie and Bobby. About being welcomed with a clap on the shoulder and a smile from everyone. Sleeping in his bed. Doing the job he was good at, hunting to feed and protect people. People who needed him. Sam was safe, and making friends. He didn’t want his big brother looking out for him any more.

_(blue like dawn frost, are we friends?)_

  Dean looked up at the shadow of Topeka. “We’re on different sides of the wall now.”

  “Don’t have to be.”

  “You learn a new perspective out here. Ain’t no coming back from that.”

  She swallowed, nodded. “But you’ll be okay?”

  “Always am.”

  She gave him a bright, brave smile. “Probably for the best, anyway. Your dad’s just hooked up with this traveller woman. I doubt that’d go down well.”

  Something stirred restlessly in the recesses of his mind. That didn’t sound… right. “What traveller woman?”

  “She came in off the road a couple of days ago. Said she’d travelled up from Stillwater. Your old room was empty so Elder John offered to take her in. But the gossip is that she never used any bed ‘cept his.”

  Ice crawled up his spine. John’s devotion to his dead wife’s memory had been a cornerstone of his identity, practically a tenet of faith. It would take something special to change that. “She have blonde hair? Blue eyes? Pointed face?”

  Jo shrugged. “Kinda like your mom, huh? Guess he has a type.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t like it but you have to let it go. It’s good that he’s finally moving on. It’s healthy.”

  Dean was inside Jo’s space before she could recoil, gripping her shoulders tightly. “What’s her name, Jo?”

  “Hey, easy.” She shoved at his chest. “Back off.”

  “Jo.”

  She looked up and the glare slid into puzzlement. “Lily.”

Dean let go with a nod and stepped back. It wasn’t a shock, not really. Of course it was her, couldn’t have been anyone else. This was her revenge, perfectly calculated. Right now he couldn’t feel it, cold and numb as he was, but he would. Oh, he would. Knowing his dad’s mind was her toy, his home her playground, and no one to stand in her way.

Like a road unfolding over the horizon, Dean’s thoughts raced to the next inevitable conclusion. Because now Lilith had a whole unit of hunters at her disposal. And she knew exactly where to send them.


	22. Chapter 22

  “So, is this a council of war?” Gabriel asked cheerfully. “It feels like a council of war to me.”

They were seated around Benny’s table, candles lit and blinds closed. Dean had ridden Impala hard back from Topeka, Benny keeping pace the whole way, and made it back just after dusk. By the time Dean got done rubbing the horse down, Benny’d summoned the troops.

  “We ain’t at war,” Benny said from the head of the table.

  “Not yet,” Kali snapped back.

  “Would Lilith tell the Normals where to find us?” Benny asked.

All eyes turned to Meg, who was lounging in the corner. She raised one shoulder and pursed her lips.

  “She’s pretty pissed. And forgiveness isn’t really her thing. Maybe.”

  “You really think she’d attack all of us?” asked Tessa. 

This was the first time Dean had met Tessa and her partner Billie. The two women stayed a good two feet from anyone else, a bubble of space that no one tried to enter. When they were introduced Dean had held out his hand. Tessa had whipped both hers behind her back and retreated so fast she hit the wall. Billie had folded her arms and glared at him.

  “Probably not,” Meg said. “But if my name was Winchester or Novak or Lafitte, I’d be worried.”

  “Nonsense,” Balthazar drawled. His long legs were up on the table and one arm was draped across the back of Castiel’s chair. Dean didn’t like him. “The hunters don’t come this far into the forest. They only care that we’re outside their little territories.”

  “That ain’t entirely true,” Dean said.

  “Who invited the primate?” Balthazar asked of the air. 

  Dean scowled and Sam cleared his throat, jumping in. “Elder Gordon already knew there was a community out here. He wanted to try and find it, but Dean dissuaded him. Once he has the exact location, Lilith won’t need to use her powers to make him send hunters.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” Balthazar said, rolling his eyes. “A zealot.”

  “So they’re coming,” Benny said calmly. He looked around the table. “We always knew it was a possibility. I guess it comes down to the age-old choice: fight or flight?”

  Kali slammed her palm on the table. “I will not run from the home we’ve built here! Why do we let them take everything, every time? You and I alone, Benjamin, could tear them apart bare-handed.”

  “Assuming they even got close,” Gabriel put in. “I’m stronger than Lilith. Wouldn’t be the first lot of Normals I’ve led in circles.”

  “But they’ll keeping coming,” Tessa said in a soft voice. “Now they know we’re here, they won’t ever stop. We can’t live like that, always waiting for the next time. Better to start again somewhere new.”

  Kali shot her a contemptuous look. “Always so afraid of your own strength.”

  “I’ve done enough damage for one lifetime,” Tessa replied, looking down at her hands.

  “There’s another option,” Dean said loudly, and everyone looked at him. “Go to Lawrence and stop Lilith before anyone else gets hurt.”

  “Are you suggesting we walk our merry band of men - and women - straight into the loving embrace of the Normals?” Gabriel said, with a raised eyebrow. “I knew you were dumb, Deano, but I didn’t realise you were that dumb.”

  Dean ignored him. “If you wait for them to come here, sooner or later someone’s gonna die.”

  “The odds are against them,” Billie said in a deep voice from where she was leaning against the wall. 

  “Then they’ll get backup from other settlements,” Sam said. “And you really will be at war.”

  “If we go in, small and quick, and take her out,” Dean said, “nobody else has to die.”

  “You’re just worried about your friends,” Meg interrupted acidly. “You’d condemn one of my family so all the Normals can be kept safe from us Blasphemies. Same old, same old.”

  “I’m trying to keep us all safe,” he said, voice rising. “Everyone here, everyone in Lawrence, you’re all at risk because of Lilith. Just take her out of it and everything’ll go back to the way it was.”

  “Too late for that,” Kali said, lips curling.

  Benny sighed. “She’s right. We’ve no way of knowing whether Lilith has already told your Elders where we are. We gotta assume they’re coming anyhow. And the best way to avoid casualties is like Gabriel said - lead ‘em in circles so they never make it.”

It wouldn’t work. Dean knew it, knew his hunters. They were sneaky bastards. At least one of them would slip past Gabriel, probably more. They’d probably manage to shoot at least one person in Purgatory before Benny or Kali ripped them limb from limb. That would be two people he knew dead, and one more with blood on their hands. To start with. After that, Elder Gordon would stop at nothing. He’d fire the forest, if he had to.

The thought turned Dean’s eyes involuntarily towards Castiel. He sat between Balthazar and Gabriel, still and silent, expression thoughtful. He clearly felt Dean’s gaze on him and looked up with a little smile. Dean felt a twist of despair in his throat and swallowed. This was his fault. If it weren’t for him, Lilith would never have been exiled from Purgatory in the first place. The people he cared about - Sam, Dad, Jo, Garth, Benny, Cas -

_ (not a fighter, vulnerable, arrow in the throat, oh god) _

They were at risk because of him. Their deaths were on his head. So it was up to him to fix it. 


	23. Chapter 23

By day, the forest was creepy, misleading, and dangerous for those who didn’t know what they were doing. It was easy to get lost, to break an ankle on unstable ground, to eat berries that would cramp your guts until you died.

By night, without some freak of a brother broadcasting ‘stay away’ over the psychic radio, it became murderous. Just as there were patches of earth that had been twisted by the War, animals changed too. Unlike earth, though, they roamed. Many of them died, unstable or fragile, but the ones that didn’t generally rose to the top of the local food chain. They were the bigger, faster, meaner versions - more teeth, more rage, less fear. Most of them avoided the weak sunlight that filtered down through the canopy, but the moon didn’t bother them in the least. 

Dean knew all of this, in theory. You couldn’t be a hunter and not know. But he was also used to having Sam at his side. He hadn’t appreciated, until now, how much the kid must’ve been doing to keep the wolf from the door. Speaking of wolves…

The eyes glinting red at him from the darkness were a good five feet off the ground. Growling rippled around him in an undulating circle, rising and falling, like waves on a beach. Dean could feel their focus between his shoulderblades, a tight, cold prickle of adrenalin and fear. He wiped the sweat from his palm and gripped his machete tightly. They’d been tracking him for ages, nipping at his heels, forcing him to run. Now he stood at bay, panting and exhausted, with the lights of Lawrence twinkling through the last few feet of forest. If he ran, they’d pull him down quicker than he could turn and fight.

He refused to go quietly.

  “Come on, assholes,” he yelled. “Which one of you wants to die first? It’s a target-rich environment!”

The growling rose in volume, a wall of sound that vibrated through his chest. Some eyes slunk closer, never blinking. If they came at him singly he stood half a chance. But wolfpacking was called that for a reason. 

_ (stupid fucking way to go, stay safe Sammy, sorry) _

One on each flank leaped simultaneously, punching high into the air to drop on top of him. He combat-rolled forwards, under their trajectory, and came up swinging the machete hard across the eyes of a third. The shock of blade on bone ran up to his shoulders and he yanked hard to free the weapon, as the beast howled. It was picked up by the rest of the pack - an eerie, wrathful, bloodless sound that built and built until Dean dropped to his knees, hands clamped over his agonised ears, all but screaming himself as the noise reverberated around his skull, stabbing white-hot needles into his brain. 

It cut off abruptly, leaving ringing silence in its wake. It took a moment for Dean to register and he stayed curled over, breathing harshly, wondering if perhaps he’d gone deaf. Then warm fingers circled his wrists and pulled them gently away from his head. He looked up into worried blue eyes.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Cas?” he said hoarsely, head still echoing. “What the fuck’re you doing here?”

  “Sam expected you to try something, um, ‘heroic and dumb’ was his precise terminology.”

  “Sam?”

Dean straightened his back and looked round as the clouds cleared for a moment. Moonlight streamed through the branches and fell silver across the statuesque figure of his brother. Sam was frowning very slightly in concentration, one hand up with his fingers spread. Around him, bellies to the ground, fawned the gigantic black wolves. One of them was even wagging its tail. The clearing was absolutely silent. Dean’s chest began to ache and he realised he was holding his breath. 

  “Not even Gabriel can control hell-hounds,” Castiel murmured, taking Dean’s elbow and pulling him to his feet. “Your brother is very strong.”

The movement seemed to break the spell. The clouds scudded on, obscuring the moon for a moment, and when there was once again enough light to see by the wolves were gone, leaving only Sam. He lowered his hand, looking shaky, and inhaled on a gasp.

  “I’m so glad that worked.”

  Dean closed his jaw, mind stuttering over what he’d just witnessed, and cleared his throat. “Your nose is bleeding,” he said gruffly. 

  Sam wiped it on the back of his hand, unconcerned. “You’re an idiot. I should’ve tied you to a chair.”

 “It’s my responsibility.”

  “Bullshit. I’m the one who slammed Lilith up against a wall. I’m the one who brought us to Purgatory. I’m the one who got us exiled from home in the first place.”

  “That wasn’t your fault, Sam. That was Elder Gordon, and…” His tongue stalled over  _ Dad _ .

  “And Lilith wasn’t your fault! She attacked you without provocation.”

  Dean spread his arms. “I was the provocation.” 

  “You are very provocative,” Castiel said dryly.

  Dean gaped at him, suddenly aware of the firm grip still wrapped around his elbow. 

  Sam gave a snort of laughter and wiped his nose again. “Okay. I assume there’s a plan?”

  “I sneak into Lawrence and gank the bitch.”

  “You can’t go in there,” Castiel said. “They will kill you.”

  Dean attempted to smile through his rising pulse. “I’m a Normal, I’ll be fine. You’re the one they’ll kill, you and Sammy. You gotta stay here, man. It ain’t safe for you.”

  “The world is not safe for me.”

  “Not so long as Lilith’s around. So I’m fixing that.”

  Castiel brought his other arm up and wrapped long fingers around the back of Dean’s neck, a shock of warmth that sent jolts of lightning through Dean’s chest. “I cannot let you throw your life away in this manner.”

  “It ain’t up to you,” Dean said, but there was no strength behind his words. Every sense was disrupted, concentrating on Castiel’s skin against his, the rub of a thumb over his throat, the lack of distance between their mouths.

  Castiel let go of Dean’s elbow and put his hand precisely over the shoulder scar. The touch was breathtaking. “I disagree,” he said softly, and then - “You’re trembling.”

  Sam cleared his throat loudly and Dean wrenched himself out of Castiel’s grasp, grateful that the darkness hid his furiously warm face. “Dean, you know you can’t beat Lilith if she sees you coming. There’s no way I’m letting you go in there alone.”

  “And I will accompany you, against the high probability that you are injured,” Castiel said firmly. 

  Dean bent down and retrieved his machete from where he’d dropped it. “We’ve come all this way,” he said, and grinned. “It’d be rude not to drop in and say hi.”


	24. Chapter 24

There were guards on the wall and at this distance Dean couldn’t make out who they were. He led the way in a wide loop around Lawrence until they were roughly in line with Bobby’s house, then belly-crawled across open ground until they were crouching in the lee of the wall. A patrol passed by overhead at semi-regular intervals, lantern light sweeping above them. His pulse rate surged with each one. He’d meant to do this alone, risking nothing but his own worthless hide. Now he had the two most important people in his world riding shotgun, and everything to lose. He glanced over his shoulder at Sam, neck craned to watch the patrols with a frown of concentration, and Castiel whose eyes were fixed gravely on him. The healer gave a small nod and Dean attempted a reassuring smile in return. He couldn’t lose them. Just the thought of it cramped his guts and wrapped itself round his chest like ice.

  “Dean!” Sam hissed, nudging him. “Head in the game, man. Now what?”

  Dean groped along the wall until he found what he was searching for. He held out the rope that hung from the palisade with a grin. “Mentioned to Jo that I might drop by.”

  Sam took it from him and tugged to test its foundations. “If anyone finds out, she’s in serious trouble.”

  “So we don’t get caught.”

Dean checked his machete was secure and began to climb. His boots slipped occasionally against the vertical surface but he hauled himself up hand-over-hand. Just as he was about to crest the wall, he saw the light-bubble of another patrol approaching. He flattened himself below the parapet as much as possible, holding his breath, until they’d passed. Garth and Ennis, by the sound of it. They were both used to doing what he said, but he really didn’t want to push that by climbing back into Lawrence in the dead of night after having previously busted out to go live with Blasphemies. Habit could only be expected to go so far.

When they were safely past, he slid over onto the walkway and whistled softly. The rope jerked under his hand as it took Sam’s weight. A minute later his brother was standing beside him and peering down into the settlement.

  “Looks like Bobby’s still up,” he whispered, moving a couple of feet until he was directly behind the house. “If we drop down here, we can get to the side door without being spotted.”

  “Bit late for that,” said a tart voice behind them.

Dean whirled, dropping into a combat-crouch, and straightened again slowly in the face of Jody Mills’ unwavering crossbow. He backed up slowly until he reached Sam, shielding his brother with his own body.

  “Hi, Jody.”

  She compressed her lips. “You shouldn’t have come back, boys.”

  “We left in such a rush, I forgot to pack a change of socks. You know how it is.”

  “Most Blasphemies who’ve escaped execution and sterilisation don’t make the bloody stupid mistake of returning to the scene of the crime.”

  “Jody,” Sam said in his softly persuasive voice, “we’re here to help.”

  “And Sam being himself isn’t a crime,” Dean added hotly.

  Jody looked tired. “You know that isn’t how most people see it. I take it Bobby’s expecting you?”

  “You gotta believe me,” Sam said earnestly. “The new woman, Lilith? She can make people do whatever she wants. She’s going to start a war between Lawrence and the Blasphemies.”

  “We’re already at war.” Jody waggled the crossbow for emphasis.

  “Not like this,” Dean growled. “I know you think you can handle them, Jody, but I’ve seen what they can do.”

  “You’re not making a compelling argument for why I should trust Sam.”

  “Fucking hell.” Dean raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m trying to save lives, and all anyone seems to want to do is go on a killing spree for no reason at all. So Blasphemies can do things the rest of us can’t, so what? Charlie’s the only one around here who can make a decent cheese but nobody tries to cut her head off for it.”

  “That’s because people like cheese,” Sam murmured, a thread of dark humour in his voice.

  “I’m sorry, boys,” Jody said, regripping the crossbow. “But I’m going to have to take you in.”

Behind her, Castiel swung himself gracefully over the top of the wall. He swung her round by the shoulder and pressed a glowing finger to the centre of her forehead. She sank down with a sigh, eyes closed. Dean gaped.

  “What did you do?”

  Castiel picked up the crossbow and handed it to him. “She will sleep for several hours. We should move.”

Dean swallowed. He remembered thinking that Castiel wasn’t a fighter, would be vulnerable in a fight. But that had been slick, efficient, and seriously hot. He firmly told his appreciative dick that now was not the time, goddamnit, and followed the other two down into Lawrence.

Bobby opened the door after a single soft tap and gestured them hurriedly inside. He gave Dean and Sam brief bristly hugs and looked Castiel over curiously but forbore to comment.

  “Jo filled me in,” he said, heading into the living room. Books covered the walls and were piled in precarious stacks. Dean saw Castiel look around with a longing expression. “There was a bunch of different myths about this kinda thing, from back before the Cold. The only thing they all agree on is that the power comes from her voice. If you can’t hear her, she ain’t got nothing.”

  “What, so we stuff our ears full of wax before we take her on?” Dean said, raising an eyebrow.

  “It’s how Odysseus did it.”

  “Who?”

  “A fictional warrior from ancient poetry,” Castiel said, which earned a grudging nod from Bobby.

  “We’re taking hunting tips from T.S. Eliot now?”

  “A bit more ancient than that,” Castiel murmured with a smile. “And it makes sense, Dean. Either it is her voice, in which case stopping up our ears is an appropriate solution, or it is her mind.” He glanced at Sam, who nodded.

  “I can take her. What’s our exit strategy?”.

  “Same way we got in,” Dean said with a shrug. “With a bit of luck, nobody’ll notice we were here until after we’re gone.”

Which was the exact moment there came a pounding on Bobby’s door. Everyone went very still. Dean could feel the blood running through his wrists, the air building up pressure in his lungs. He glanced at Bobby, who jerked his head towards the rug that Dean knew concealed a trapdoor to the basement. It was unlikely many other people knew about that but if they were caught down there it was the end of the line, no way out.

  The rough blows on the door sounded again, then Elder Gordon’s voice, muffled. “Open up, Singer.”

   _Fuck. Not good. Very not good._ Dean dragged in a breath, forcing his brain to cooperate. “Bobby, get the door. I’ll go out the back first, cause a distraction for anyone out that way. Sammy, Cas, soon as the road’s clear you bolt, okay?”

  Sam straightened up with a frown. “I’m not leaving you.”

  “They ain’t gonna hurt me,” Dean said with a forced grin. “I got too many friends here. Besides, I’m only human. You know the ground - get Cas out, get both of you to safety.”

  “Dean -” Castiel said, and reached for his shoulder.

  Elder Gordon started banging on the door again.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Bobby yelled, not moving.

  “I know you wanna argue, both of you, but we don’t have time,” Dean said gruffly. “You can tear me a new one when we’re all home.”

  Castiel’s long fingers gripped tighter, pulling him close. “Then you had better come home,” he said in a gravel-filled whisper.

A shiver ran down Dean’s neck as Castiel’s breath ghosted across his lips. Half an inch separated their mouths, chests, thighs. He could feel the body-heat tingling down his body, drawing him in. Fuck, he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in it, forget the cold dark world outside and just touch, skin to skin, warm and soft and welcoming, making him feel like he was worth something, that he belonged. The blue of Castiel’s eyes was dark as an evening sky, pupils blown wide, stealing Dean’s breath and senses. His palms had moved without command, drinking in the sharp curves of Castiel’s jaw. Quarter of an inch between them now.

The kiss was gentle, a brush of wool-soft lips against his, and something flared agonisingly bright in Dean’s chest. He sucked down breath to try and ease it, and the gasp was answered by a low growl. Then Castiel was on him again, hot and wet and hungry, tongue demanding entry, licking into his mouth and claiming it. Dean lit up, fire racing through his core, pooling in his throat and groin and eager hands. He sucked Castiel’s lower lip between his teeth and bit, teasing the flesh.

  “We don’t got time for arguing but we got time for this?” he heard Bobby say, at a distance.

Chest heaving, hunger roaring through his body, Dean pulled himself back. Castiel’s eyes fluttered open, almost feral, and he ran a visibly shaking hand through his dark hair until it stood on end.

  Sam clapped him on the shoulder. “Whilst I’d normally be congratulating you on getting your head outta your ass, now is not the moment.”

  Dean nodded, swallowing, and tore his gaze away from Castiel to look at Bobby, who had his eyebrows raised. “Get the door.”

  “Oh, now you’re ready to dance?" Bobby unfolded his arms with a nod. "Good luck, boys.”

Dean led the way through to the back and gestured for Sam and Castiel to stand behind the door, hidden from first sight. He put his hand on the latch and waited until he could hear Bobby and Gordon talking. Then he wrenched the door open and hurled himself out into the dark, limbs flailing.

They hadn’t expected that. He got a good ten feet from the house, breaking at least one nose in the process, before they boxed him in. Four hunters waiting, to deal with him and Sam. He was almost insulted. His machete wasn’t drawn - that was a sure way to get shot - but he didn’t hold back with his fists or feet. He’d taught Garth how to fight, but he hadn’t taught him everything and the kid went down fast. Rufus had a bad left knee that put him out of action with one well-placed kick. That left Jesse and Cesar, blood gushing down his face and a pissed-off expression. The two flanked him and closed together. Dean got a jab in on Jesse, and sent Cesar reeling with an elbow in his solar plexus. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Sam dragging Castiel into the shadows around the corner of the house. That was enough of a distraction for Jesse to launch a flying tackle, one shoulder going hard into his stomach. They went down together in a flail of thrashing limbs. Dean rolled, straddling Jesse and raining blows down on his head. The man curled his arms up defensively and yelled. There was a flicker of movement in Dean’s peripheral vision as Cesar ran towards them. He started to throw himself sideways, but the flying kick caught him square in the temple and his senses exploded.

He dropped, all limbs loose like their strings had been cut. Sound was disjointed and distant, heard through several layers of wood. There was a brief heated discussion around him, but he couldn’t make out the words through his nausea and splintered vision. Then there was pressure on his arms and roughness under his body. They were dragging him.

Away. Alone.

He closed his eyes, dizzy with relief, and let himself hurt.


	25. Chapter 25

It was odd, this homecoming, Dean thought muzzily. Far from the first, but he didn't remember having this many people turn out to greet him before. Near enough everyone in Lawrence, gathered in a circle outside the Council hall, huddling against the bitter cold. They didn't look too happy to see him back. Jo was scowling something fierce. 

Except this wasn't home now, was it? Home was… well, he wasn't sure where, not any more, torn between town and tree house. Wherever Sammy was, maybe that was definition enough. And Cas? Did he count, strange and uncertain as their friendship was? 

His train of thought was disrupted by being dropped in the mud on folded knees. He raised his pounding head on an oddly weak neck and blinked at the ring of torchlight, trying to bring it into focus. He couldn't see Sam anywhere, or Cas. Not home, then. That was a shame, he could really do with those healing hands just now. He seemed to ache all over. 

Someone loomed over him. 

   He squinted up through swelling eyes at the shadowy figure, backlit by fire.  “Hi Dad.”

Elder John said nothing. His harsh expression didn't even flicker. On his knees, bloody and bruised, Dean felt the familiar ache of guilt. He wasn't the son John wanted, never good enough or smart enough. Worse, now, a traitor to his town, choosing Blasphemies over his own people. 

Choosing Sam… 

  Dean drew an abruptly furious breath past throbbing ribs and pushed himself upright. Looked his father straight in the eye. “John.”

The blow snapped across his cheekbone, snake-fast, and sent him sprawling. He pushed himself back up, spitting mud and blood, newly aware of all his bruises. By the time he was on his feet again, Lilith had slithered out of the shadows and was hanging on his dad's elbow. She smiled at him, all angles and teeth, stroking John’s arm possessively. 

  “Kill him,” she purred in a velvet voice. 

  “He ain't done nothing wrong,” Bobby said loudly, pushing his way roughly into the circle on Dean’s right. “Not a Blasphemy, not an oathbreaker. He ain't even been officially exiled.”

  “He broke a Blasphemy out,” Gordon said harshly, from behind Lilith. 

  “I saved my brother,” Dean rasped, eyes never moving from his dad’s face. 

  “You chose them over us,” Gordon said. 

  Dean gestured towards Lilith. “So’re you. And I know this is different, Dad. I know she's got your mind in a headlock. But it shouldn't’ve taken that. Your son shoulda been reason enough.”

  Lilith glared, eyes flat with hate. “Kill him,” she hissed at John again. 

Bobby opened his mouth and she glanced at him, nostrils flaring. His jaw snapped shut, expression going eerily lax. Slowly, John drew a long blade from the sheath on his belt. The torchlight gleamed along its length. 

  “Dad.” Dean held his ground, nowhere to run, no point or pride in trying. “C’mon. You can fight this.”

  Lilith laughed, light and pleased. “You think he wants to?”

And that cut deeper than anything, that cut to the bone, because Dean wasn't sure. All those beatings at his dad's hands and a few had gone far enough that he'd thought the blows wouldn't ever stop. This was, somehow, hauntingly familiar. Him, standing between his dad and brother, taking the damage so Sammy didn't have to. So many places where Dean didn't belong but this space was his. He knew who he was here, what he was for. He raised his chin and didn't flinch as the knife swung high. 

   “STOP.”

Every muscle locked. In front of him, John froze mid-strike, arm shuddering to a halt. Even the torch fires seemed to pause for a second before flickering on. In his peripheral vision Dean saw Sam stalk out from the crowd. Shadows shifted under his cheekbones and jaw; his shoulders promised violence; his eyes were banked coals. For a heartbeat Dean saw a stranger in his brother's skin, and ice crackled up his spine. 

  “You must be getting tired,” Sam said softly, watching Lilith. 

  “I have more power than you could possibly know,” she spat back, and Dean could hear she was afraid. 

  “Enough to hold them and fight me?”

John gave grunt of pain, limbs visibly trembling, and his eyes rolled white. A thread of dark liquid grew slowly from one nostril. 

  “You can't afford to push,” Lilith said, sounding breathless. “You'll scramble his brains.”

  “You think I care?” 

It was a deliberate parody of Lilith’s light, pleased inflection a few moments before. John whined in the back of his throat, high and awful. The thread of blood thickened. Then he dropped in a tangle of limbs, strings snapped, and suddenly Dean could move again.

He dragged in a gasping breath, stepping sideways to look around. There were growing ripples of movement in the crowd as Lilith’s hold was broken. One or two broke and ran; a few others staggered in shock. But most stayed where they were, riveted by the showdown in front of them. Those in the firing line behind Sam and Lilith shuffled hurriedly sideways, leaving a clear space. 

Almost clear. The movement revealed Castiel standing at the very back, poised between Sam and the gate, eyes fixed on Dean. The road home. It snapped clear in Dean’s brain, and with it came certainty of movement.

He dropped into a combat roll, gathering John’s knife into his hand on the way past, and rose smoothly to his feet immediately behind Lilith. Her eyes widened, nostrils flaring, and Sam flung up a hand, fingers spread wide. She was held still for one long silent moment, and Dean slid the blade smoothly across her throat, cutting deep. She shuddered against him and blood spilled down like lace. Then her head rolled back onto his shoulder, sightless eyes open, and she slid in slow-motion to the ground.

The silence was broken by the distinctive sound of a cocking crossbow. Dean looked around in time to see Gordon, his face dark with hatred, taking aim at Sam. He twisted, flipping the knife, and hurled it with every ounce of rage and fear welling up in his chest. It flashed through the air into Gordon’s eye, as his fingers squeezed the trigger.

Sam flung himself sideways.

Castiel didn’t.


	26. Chapter 26

Dean wanted to cry out but his throat was closed. Mud sucked at his feet, holding him prisoner. Castiel took a single punched step backwards, mouth gaping but voiceless. There was no sound anywhere, the night sky a vacuum of noise. No one moved. No one but Castiel. His arms swung wide, a rag-doll, fingers splayed, trench coat flaring open. The faces around the circle stared, round eyes, round mouths, blank and stupid, blurring into a long stretch between Dean and his friend. When Castiel fell it was the long, stiff descent of a tree, slow and irrevocable. 

_ (vulnerable, arrow in the throat, oh God, Cas, oh God) _

Dean didn't remember crossing the square. He was standing over Lilith’s corpse, then he was on his knees beside Castiel. The crossbow bolt was buried between ribs, close to the heart, short and dark and ugly. Blood spread out from it like ink on paper. 

_ (arrow in the throat, oh God) _

His clothes were already sodden with blood that steamed in the cold. Dean’s hands hovered uselessly, as if he could catch the body heat and stuff it back in. Was he supposed to put pressure on a wound that still had the weapon in? But it shouldn't matter, right? Dean just had to keep Castiel conscious, and his healing power could do the rest. 

  “Cas? Hey, hey, look at me.” Dean forced a smile, tight and unconvincing, as Castiel blinked up at him with glazing eyes. “It's not even that bad. It's not even that bad, alright? Cas? Castiel! Listen to me, we're gonna patch you up, okay? You'll be good as new.”

Castiel's eyes sagged shut, leaving a glimmer of white still exposed. Dean felt his own chest contract sharply, as if he had an arrow of his own. 

   “No. No no no no no.” His hands were on Castiel’s chest, his cheeks, holding onto the shallow laboured breaths. “Cas? Oh God. Cas.”

  Sam crouched opposite, eyes wary on the watching crowd. “We have to go.”

  “We’re not fucking leaving him,” Dean snarled, and that got Sam’s attention because he’d never used that tone with his brother.

  “Of course not,” Sam said in a parody of calm. “We’ll carry him.”

Carry him. Yes. Dean could do that. Mindful of the bolt, not wanting to tear anything, make that awful wound worse, Dean slid his arms under Castiel’s shoulders and knees. It took him two tries to stand, the weight more than he expected from such a slender figure, and he’d taken a beating not long ago. But he made it to his feet. 

There were people between him and the gate, holding burning torches. He walked towards them, arms full, and knew they’d move out of his way.

They moved.

The guards on the gate stood hurriedly aside as he approached, but they left the heavy wooden bar in place. Sam lifted it into the air with a grunt of effort, sailing it over their heads to splash down in the mud between him and the silent crowd.

  “Don’t follow us,” he said, and his voice was a promise of violence.

Dean left Lawrence without looking back. 

He made it halfway across the open ground before his foot caught in a tussock. He stumbled, shaken out of his blank trudge, and scrabbled after Castiel with a gasp. Sam was there instantly, catching Castiel up into his own arms. Dean recovered his footing, suddenly aware of the deep ache in his triceps, his back, his right thigh and left temple. He reached for Castiel but Sam moved back, shaking his head.

  “I’ll carry him for a bit,” he said in a low voice.

  Dean swallowed against the awful tightness in his throat. “We can’t… it’s a long way.”

  “I called for help.”

Benny was waiting for them at the treeline, his face grim. He lifted Castiel easily and cradled him against his broad chest.

  “Gabriel ain’t too happy with you boys.” 

  “We’ll be right behind you,” Sam said wearily.

  “Don’t you get lost now. I sure would be annoyed if I had to track you down.”

  “Not gonna be a problem,” Dean got out, eyes never moving from Castiel’s pale face. 

Benny gave them a curt nod and then he was gone in a sweep of waving ferns. Dean was several paces in his wake before he realised Sam wasn’t beside him. He glanced back over his shoulder impatiently, to where his brother was still loitering beside a tree.

  “Come on, man.”

  “Gimme me minute.”

  “We don’t have a minute. Cas is dying!”

  “We can’t keep up with Benny, and even if we could we’re not doctors,” Sam said. “We’ve got a minute.”

He put a hand against the tree trunk abruptly. Dean bit back the sharp retort and looked more closely at his brother. There was a crust of blood around his nostrils, and a dark stain on his sleeve where he’d wiped his face. His eyes were red, the skin around them bruised and puffy. He caught Dean’s searching glance and gave a wan smile.

  “Long night.”

  “You look like shit,” Dean said, bluntness covering his worry. “Can you make it home?”

  Sam nodded. “Lilith was strong, and I’d already gone a round with the hellhounds.”

  “Did you pull a braincell?”

  “It’s not like physical exercise, Dean.” He pursed his lips, annoyed. “It’s more a flash fire. Only instead of burning fuel, I’m burning energy.”

  “Cas talked about souls." Dean hesitated. "You’re not, I mean, you don’t think you’re using yours up, do you? 'Coz I don’t know what would do but it sounds bad.”

  Sam straightened up slowly. “Not using it up, but maybe tapping into it. Maybe... maybe more than that.”

  “You’ve got that face on.”

  “What face?”

  “The one you get when you’ve just had an idea that’s gonna get us both into a lot of trouble.”

  “I think I was wrong.” He touched Dean’s shoulder. “We don’t have a minute.”


	27. Chapter 27

They ran. And ran. And ran.

There’s a point, in running, when consciousness becomes detached from the physical. The body is present, moving, but distant; its pains, cramps, the shock of muscle against turf, register only as points of data. As Dean’s feet ran steadily through the forest, his mind raced ahead to the limp figure of Castiel, crossbow bolt still buried sickeningly near to the heart.

It was a killing shot. The hunter in him knew it. If not from blood loss or shock, infection would finish the job. But this was Castiel the Blasphemy, who believed he healed in God’s name. He could bring back a man on the brink of death; heal burns even as fire ate into his own flesh. Infection was nothing… so long as he survived to wake up.

_(...he’s doing Your work, least You can do is let him, let him live, oh God, Cas, let him live...)_

Dean didn’t know how long he’d been praying but he stopped as soon as he realised. He’d given up on that approach long ago; given up praying for Elder John to come home sober, for his belt to keep from swinging, for Sammy’s abilities to stay secret. If God was real, he didn’t listen to Dean.

But Castiel did. Castiel listened as no one else ever had, eyes wide and intent, serious-faced and focused. So Dean spoke to him, ordered him, bound the commands into the rhythms of his own body as it strove to catch up.

 _Breathe_ , gasped his lungs.

 _Hold on_ , double-thumped his heart.

 _Don’t you dare be dead_ , growled his mind. _You hear me, you bastard? You don’t get to check out on me, not now. You told me to make it home, I’m coming, Cas, hang on in there, I’m coming but you gotta hold on._

 _Hold on_ , double-thumped his heart.

 _Breathe_ , gasped his lungs.

And then there were lights in front of him, he was at Benny’s and he didn’t know how to stop moving except he had stopped and suddenly his mind and body were snapped back together and his chest was on fire, head spinning, muscles screaming, and there were hands locked around his throat, he really couldn’t breathe, and the lights cartwheeled as Gabriel tumbled them both to the ground as he tried to squeeze the last little bit of air out of Dean’s oxygen-starved lungs. Shouting, Dean wasn’t sure what, concentration pulsing as he arched under Gabriel’s hands. Sam’s voice, breathless and alarmed, long arms wrapping around Gabriel’s waist and lifting him off. Dean rolled sideways, choking, scrabbling weakly at the grass as his body fought itself to breathe.

  “... only one who can keep Cas alive, don’t you get it?” Sam was yelling nearby. “They’re connected.”

  “My brother’s dying because of him!” Gabriel roared back.

  “No,” Sam said, quieter, bringing the shuddering violence down. “Dean gave himself up to give us a chance to escape. I was the one who got Cas shot. I was the one who went back.”

  “Why?” Gabriel sounded wounded himself.

  “To save my brother. Then we ran all the way here to save yours.”

Dean sat up shakily, one hand at his abused neck, and looked round to where Sam was straddling Gabriel’s chest, one hand wrapped in his shirt.

  “You can’t.” The fight went out of Gabriel like a blown candle. His head dropped back to the ground and he closed his eyes. “The only way someone survives a wound like that is if Cassie heals them."

  Sam relaxed his grip. “And that’s what we’re gonna do. Sort of. Last time Cas healed Dean, he said their souls connected. Dean was so close to dying, Cas had to leave some of himself in there to make sure the blood loss and shock didn’t finish the job later.”

  “My shoulder,” Dean croaked.

  “Right. I’m gonna channel it back into Cas.”

  “Power doesn’t work that way,” Gabriel said, but there was a new note in his voice. “Souls don’t work that way.”

  “You sure?” Sam countered. “No one’s ever studied what we can do, how it works.”

A deep cough from the doorway. Benny stepped out and reached a hand down to Dean, pulling him easily upright.

  “If you’re gonna try it, better do it soon,” he said softly. “Andrea’s done what she can but he ain’t got long now.”

  A sharp ache ran through Dean’s chest. He swallowed, nodded. “Sammy.”

  Sam rose and Gabriel followed with a grunt. He stepped in close to Dean, eyes narrow and vicious. “When you first came here, I made you a promise,” he said intently. “Break my brother, and I will break yours.”

  “I shouldn’t’ve gone in the first place,” Dean said. “Break me.”

He pushed past, Sam on his heels, and walked into Benny’s front room. Castiel was laid out on the table, tunic cut away, his skin pale under the drying streaks of blood. Candles were everywhere, clustered where Andrea sat holding a soaking red cloth to the wound. The crossbow bolt lay discarded on the floor behind her, splintered and bent.

  “I’ve sewn him as best I can,” she said in a thin voice. “But his pulse…”

  Dean could hear his own, loud in his ears. _Hold on, hold on, hold on_ …

  Sam stood by Castiel’s head, looked down and licked his lips. Then he beckoned Dean. “Take off your shirt.”

Dean struggled out of his shirt, exposing the handprint on his shoulder. It seemed to prickle faintly - was that real, or in his head? Was there a difference? He swallowed hard and moved closer to Sam, who carefully placed his own hand over the mark.

_Hold on, hold on, hold on…_

  Sam took a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes.”

Dean leaned into the heat of Sam’s touch, tense, anticipating. Nothing happened. He looked at his brother, grief and fear and disappointment curdling in his stomach. Sam's eyes were turned inward, focused, and in the light of the candles they seemed to change colour from hazel to gold. Dean opened his mouth and the heat went deeper into his muscles, into his bone, deeper, like a arrow, burrowing into him, pinning body and mind together, until it breached his core and he opened like an oyster. The pearl was light and peace and the scent of heather. It hummed gently, part of him but not his. Time to give it back.

Even with his eyes closed, he could feel Castiel now. The tingling awareness in his shoulder was a compass needle, pointing the way home. He couldn’t walk that road himself, too mired in Normality to know the steps, but there was a bridge between them built of love and blood and the duties owed from guests to host.

_(the oldest agreed manners in history, your turn Sammy)_

The pearl passed out of Dean’s skin into the heat of his brother’s body, leaving a silence that made Dean keenly miss the hum he’d never noticed before it left. He slumped under Sam’s hand, abruptly cold and heavy-limbed, and opened his eyes with an effort. Andrea was on her feet, eyes wide and shocked, Benny and Gabriel behind her. Dean turned his creaking neck to look.

Blood ran in steady thick drips from Sam’s nose, leaving a twin-track of stains down his shirt. His eyes were gold from corner to corner, blind and brilliant. One hand was still locked onto Dean’s shoulder, and he could feel the points of pain now; the other pressed hard against Castiel’s forehead, tendons standing proud. A rumble built in Sam’s chest, rising swiftly into a roar of pain. He flung his head back, spine arching, every muscle strained. Then he collapsed weakly into Dean’s waiting arms, shuddering.

On the table, Castiel opened his eyes with a gasp.


	28. Chapter 28

  Gabriel lunged forward, face alight. “Cassie! Cassie, talk to me.”

Castiel groaned but Dean couldn’t give the welcome sound of life his full attention because Sam was sliding through his grip toward the floor. He went with the movement, cushioning the impact as much as possible, and pressed two fingers to his brother’s neck. The pulse was racing but strong.

  “I’m okay,” Sam said, batting weakly at his hand. “Just need to sit down for a bit.”

  “You look like shit,” Dean said. He spat on a corner of his own shirt and wiped Sam’s bloodied face. “No more heroics, okay?”

  Sam wheezed a quiet laugh, eyes closing. “Pot meet kettle.”

  “Bitch.”

  “Jerk.” Sam squirmed until he was leaning against the wall, legs stretched out beneath the table, and leaned his head back with a sigh. “Check on Cas.”

Dean gave his brother a final once-over but he didn’t look like he was about to kick the bucket in the next five minutes, so he straightened up. Andrea and Benny were standing back, whispering together. Gabriel was leaning over Castiel, patting his chest and shoulders in little flustered movements. Castiel’s brow was furrowed, lips pinched thin in pain. His eyes widened when he saw Dean.

  “Are you alright?” he grated.

  “Dude, I’m fine. I’m not the one who got shot.” Dean grabbed his wrist and pressed Castiel’s left hand against the wound in his chest. “C’mon, work your magic.”

  “They were beating you,” Castiel insisted.

  “Priorities, Cas,” Dean said impatiently. “Physician, heal thy fucking self.”

He pushed a little harder against the wound and Castiel flinched, which made Gabriel glare at Dean. Castiel’s eyes flashed blue and heat flared under his hand.

  “There you go,” Dean said softly, as the wound closed. “Now, you just lie back and relax. Let Gabe here wait on you hand and foot.”

  “You’re moving in with me for a while,” Gabriel said, leaning over him. “You’re in no condition to climb trees.”

  “Alright,” Castiel said muzzily. His hand turned to tangle fingers with Dean’s. “Will you come with me?”

  Dean could feel the heat burning his cheeks. He cleared his throat loudly. “Gotta take care of Sammy first. I’ll come see you when that’s done, okay?”

  “Okay,” Castiel whispered, eyelids sinking.

  Gabriel straightened up. “Benny, would you mind carrying him next door? Best do it while he’s out.”

  “Sure thing. And then I reckon we should probably have a chat about what to do next.”

  Dean ran a weary hand over his face. “Can’t it wait? It’s been a helluva night.”

  “No, brother, I don’t reckon it can.” Benny slid his arms under Castiel’s neck and knees, lifting him easily. “We already got one man down as a result of what you did. Don’t fancy risking more.”

  Dean flinched. “Yeah, okay. Let me get Sammy settled and I’ll come back.”

  “Do you need any help?” Andrea asked.

  “You got any ginseng?” Dean asked. “Or horsetail grass?”

  “There’s a clump of horsetail growing out back,” she said. “Why?”

  “Good for stopping internal bleeding,” he said shortly, hauling a half-conscious Sam bodily upright and getting his neck under one arm. “Don’t suppose you could grab me a bunch while I get this big lump outta your front room?”

  “Do you want it in hot water?”

  “That’d be awesome, thanks.”

Sam woke up a bit as they followed Benny awkwardly through the door. The sudden movement threw off Dean’s balance a little and Sam whacked his head on the frame. He blinked heavily, frowning.

  “Ow.”

  “Sorry,” Dean said, a little short on breath. “Quit wriggling.”

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Carrying your ass to bed.”

  “I c’n walk.”

  “It’s good to have dreams, Sammy.”

  “Your eye’s all swollen.”

  “Quit pawing at me, man.”

  Sam squinted after Gabriel and Benny as they turned off toward Gabriel’s house. “Is Cas gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah, he’ll be fine. You did good, Sam.”

  “Good.” They stumbled a few more steps before Sam spoke again, in a small voice. “Is Dad gonna be okay?”

Dean gritted his teeth and kept moving. He hadn’t thought about John until now, hadn’t even stopped to look before leaving. He didn’t know what kind of internal damage the man might have taken during Sam and Lilith’s battle of wills. He might be a drooling vegetable. He might be dead. Dean was almost surprised to feel his throat tighten at the thought.

  “I ain’t gonna lie to you, he looked a little the worse for wear last I saw,” he said finally. “But whatever damage he took, that’s on Lilith.”

  “And me,” Sam said, sounding almost childlike.

  “Dude, I just said I wouldn’t lie to you. That bitch was the one that went after him. It ain’t your fault. Now shut up, we’re here.”

  Sam rolled his head back to look up at the tree. It seemed taller than usual. “I don’t think I can climb the ladder right now, Dean.”

  “No shit, genius. It’s the cargo net for you. Transport of choice for all overgrown sasquatches. Sit down here while I go unhook it.”

Dean paused when he reached the platform, taking a moment to catch his breath. The last adrenalin jag had faded and he felt wrung out, bone-heavy and aching everywhere. Now that Castiel and Sam were safe, there was time to be afraid for his dad and Bobby and Jo. How was Lawrence dealing with what had just gone down? Would it turn on the people who’d helped him? Would it come after him? A baby could read the trail he’d left on the run back to Purgatory. Had he put everyone in danger all over again?

The sun was rising, staining the sky pink and gold, lighting up the dust particles in the air. On a nearby branch, a wooden windchime gave a musical ripple. Below him, the river gleamed silver. Castiel’s boat was pulled up on the shore, nets and sail neatly furled. He’d never got around to asking to go out in it. Now that he’d nearly got the guy killed, he doubted Castiel would be willing to take him. He rubbed his temple against a threatening headache and unhooked the cargo net to send down to Sam.

Andrea arrived as he reached ground-level again, a battered metal mug in her hands. She handed it to Sam with a smile.

  “I think this is for you.”

  He sniffed it cautiously. “Thanks.”

  “Drink up, princess,” Dean said, shaking out the net. “Your carriage awaits.”

  Sam took a sip, made a disgusted face, and drained it. “Horsepiss tea.”

  “Just like Ellen used to make.”

  Andrea took the mug back. “Benny said to come to ours when you’ve finished.”

  “I’ll be there in a few. Thanks, Andrea.”

  “You’re not going out again,” Sam said as she left.

  “Don’t worry, Samantha, I’ll be back before you wake up.”

  “Dean, in the last twenty four hours you’ve ridden the round-trip to Topeka, run to Lawrence and back, and taken a beating. Your face looks like punchbag.”

  “You’re just jealous of my rugged good looks.”

  “I mean it,” Sam insisted. “You need to sleep as much as I do.”

  “No rest for the wicked.” Dean sighed as Sam broke out the pathetic puppy-eyes. “I promise I’ll get some shut-eye as soon as I can. But I gotta tell Benny what went down so he can prep for fallout. Now, could you please get your ginormous ass over here, so I can literally haul you up to bed? Thank you.”


	29. Chapter 29

Half a day, a cold dip in the river, and a venison sandwich later, Dean walked back up to the gates of Lawrence with Benny and Kali beside him.

  “Open up!” he shouted. 

  “Not a chance in hell,” Cesar yelled back.

  “Have it your way.”

Dean looked at Benny, who took two steps to gain momentum and kicked the centre of the gates. The massive wooden bar holding them shut cracked right through and they swung open, accompanied by shouts of panic from inside. Kali shook her hair back and flames roared up from her hands, engulfing her upper body. 

  “Lead on, brother,” Benny said, gesturing to Dean.

He walked through, and flinched as Benny snatched a crossbow bolt out of the air a few inches from his back. The shouting stopped abruptly. The three of them continued on in eerie silence until they reached the square, where the rest of the settlement were gathering. Bobby and Ellen stood at the front, arms folded.

  “Hi guys,” Dean said with a nod. “Long time no see.”

  “Dean, what in hell’s name are you doing?” Bobby growled.

  “Meet Benny and Kali.” He poked a thumb back over his shoulder. “Benny’s faster and stronger than any four hunters put together. Kali, well, she likes fire and it likes her. Between them, they could take this place apart. And that’s just two of the folks out in the woods. So how about we all sit down and talk this out?”

  “Have you lost your mind?” Ellen said, never taking her eyes off Kali for a moment.

  “Elder Gordon is already dead,” Dean said. “You want more burials? Coz I guarantee Lawrence will come off worse in any war. The only reason - the  _ only  _ reason - you ain’t already fighting a losing battle is because Sam and me asked real nice, and Benny’s the generous sort.”

  “They’re Blasphemies,” Ellen said.

  “And they’ve done fuck all to hurt you,” Dean snapped back. “Look past your prejudices for once, and fucking  _ think _ .”

_ (please, there’s nothing else I can do now, it’s all on you, please) _

There was a long, tense pause. Then Bobby held out a hand.

  “Robert Singer.”

  “Benjamin Lafitte,” Benny said gravely, shaking it. “From what Dean tells me, you’re the most rational soul in these parts.”

  Ellen snorted. “Is that right? Well, if we’re gonna try talking this out, let’s do it in comfort. My bar’s over there. No blood spilled indoors, no burn marks, and no feet up on the furniture.”

  Benny touched his forehead with a smile, as Kali let her flames subside. “Yes, ma’am.”

The crowd eddied uneasily as they walked towards the bar, unsure whether to scramble out of the way or follow them in. Bobby raised his voice.

  “I know you idjits all got work to do. Go on, get! This is Council business.”

With some shuffling of feet and challenging looks, particularly in Dean’s direction, people began to disperse. Dean kept his eyes down, not wanting to meet anyone’s eyes. He might still be a Normal but he’d firmly crossed the divide from Us to Them. It stung more than he expected. He’d worked hard for this community all his life, grown up amongst them, bled for them, saved the lives of more than a few. He’d been willing to put the bystanding last night down to Lilith’s mental interference, but that excuse no longer held water. Now it was personal.

  Benny nudged his shoulder. “After you, brother,” he murmured, nodding at the dark interior of the bar. 

Dean couldn’t blame him. He didn’t want to be the first one to walk into what could easily be a trap, and he knew the place. But he couldn’t expect the others to take point on this so he raised his chin and strolled in with affected ease, as if he were fresh off patrol and expected. 

  “I’ll have the usual, thanks, Ellen,” he said loudly, leading the way to the corner table by the fire.

  Ellen snorted as she went behind the counter. “You never change.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Bobby said, taking the seat opposite Benny. “Seems like he’s done his share lately. Maybe we oughtta follow suit.”

  Ellen hummed in her throat and glanced at Kali, who was leaning against the wall near the door. “What’ll it be?”

  “I won’t break bread with you until after peace is determined,” she said, making no attempt to soften the implied mistrust. 

  “Suit yourself.” Ellen carried four drinks over and sat down between Bobby and Benny. “Well, it isn’t the first time Blasphemies have drunk in here, but it’s the first time they’ve done it officially. So… cheers.”

  Benny chuckled and raised his pint. “Been a long time since I had beer,” he said appreciatively. “I like our mead just fine but you can have too much of a good thing.”

  “You make mead?” Ellen sounded impressed. “I haven’t tasted that since before the Tribulation.”

  “I’d be happy to reacquaint you,” Benny said, leaning back in his chair with a deceptively lazy expression. “Assuming we can come to terms, of course.”

  “What did you have in mind?” Bobby said. 

  “Peace.” Kali snorted but Benny ignored her. “These are hard times for everyone. We’re stronger together.”

  “Judging by the state of our gate, you know a thing or two about strength,” Ellen said wryly. 

  Benny smiled at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Even if we here can agree, there’s gonna be plenty of folks out there that’ll struggle to get a new approach into their heads.”

  “I speak for my people exactly as much as you speak for yours. Ain’t talking about co-habiting. But maybe we can get on terms as neighbours.”

There was a tense moment as Bobby and Ellen exchanged glances. Dean leaned forward with a sigh.

  “Guys, it’s time to think long-term. The Cold ain’t going anywhere. More people are dying than growing up. Both sides are facing the same problems with different resources. Imagine what could happen if you helped each other out.”

  “Well, fuck me sideways with a cattle prod,” Bobby said, staring. “When did you decide to turn your brain on?”

  “Oh, cram it.” Dean scowled at him. 

  Bobby nodded to Ellen. “Kid’s not wrong.”

  “First time for everything.” She drew in a deep breath and faced Benny. “Okay, Mister Lafitte. Let’s see if we can come to terms.”

Dean meant to pay attention, he really did, but it had been a long two days and when they started talking about reciprocal trade agreements he tuned out pretty quick. Leaning back beside the warm brick of the chimney breast, his muscles finally began to unclench. He hoped Sammy would be a little less tense -

_ (less golden-eyed, shit, better check with Gabriel if that’s normal) _

\- by the time he got back. And, ideally, still asleep. He’d checked in before leaving for Lawrence but the kid had been spark out, sprawled face-down on Castiel’s nest of blankets and snoring slightly. Andrea knew where they were, of course, but if Sam woke up whilst he was still gone, he’d catch hell for not saying goodbye. Especially since there’d been no guarantee it was a two-way trip. Not with Gordon’s blood fresh on his hands.

Castiel’s face, when Gordon shot him… It kept coming back, thrusting forcefully into the forefront of Dean’s thoughts. Those beautiful eyes wide and surprised, looking at him in confusion. Castiel was always looking at him. Pinning him in place, getting under his skin, making him feel warm and worthy. God, his hand had been hot, skin to skin, simmering. The taste of his tongue was in Dean’s mouth, dark and close and full of promise, stoking the coals. Dean breathed him in, chasing his hunger, blood burning, pulse churning. He wanted more skin, more sweet kisses, wanted to stretch Castiel out under his hands and take his time, tease him speechless and sink deep, wrapped in breathless heat...

A swift, sharp pain in his ankle jolted him fully awake, freshly aware of his surroundings and the pressure in his groin. Benny gave him a warning look, shoulders radiating tension, and then turned deliberately to face the door. Dean followed his gaze and got stiffly to his feet at the sight of John standing there with one hand still on the latch. 

  “Dad.”

  John’s eyes didn’t even flicker in his direction. “Bobby,” he growled, “why aren’t these Blasphemies dead yet?”


	30. Chapter 30

 Kali moved first, wrapping an arm around Bobby’s neck from behind. “Move and he dies in agony,” she hissed, then glared at Benny. “I knew this was bad idea.”

  “It ain’t a trap,” Bobby yelled.

  “John, shut the hell up,” Ellen said, keeping her calm. “I apologise, Mister Lafitte.”

  Benny waved a hand. “We already said it’d take time for folks to come around.”

  “Little help here,” Bobby choked.

  “Kali.”

  She scowled fiercely. “You’re too trusting.”

  “It’s a two-way street. If this is gonna work, they gotta trust us not to throttle them and burn the bones.”

  “Very well.” She stepped back and Bobby coughed on the inhale. “But I will burn that one if he makes a move.” She jerked her thumb towards John.

  “No!” Dean slid quickly out of his corner to stand between them, and put his back to Kali. “No, he’s mine.”

  Benny stood slowly. “Brother, I -”

  “Make one wrong move and I’ll kill you myself,” Dean told John flatly, his heart hammering.

  John’s expression twitched, surprised and hurt. “Son...”

  “Shut up. You nearly gutted me last night. You signed off on Sam’s execution. You took your belt to me every week for years. So don’t think for one minute I can’t do it.”

The room went still behind him. Then Kali gave a hum of approval and moved back to her place against the wall. There was a scrape of a chair behind him, and John looked past his shoulder.

  “This is Council business. I’m an Elder.”

  “True.” Ellen’s voice was brusque. “But before you open your mouth without thinking again, remember which Council member spent the last week fucking a Blasphemy.”

John choked, temper turning his face red. Dean flinched instinctively, recognising that expression from countless drunken evenings, and hated himself for it. All those brave words and the man could still turn him into a scared child without a word. Ellen’s hand landed on his arm and he pulled away quickly, scowling. He put his back to the wall next to Kali, arms crossed defensively, and glared at the floor.

  Bobby cleared his throat. “John Winchester, meet Benjamin Lafitte. We’ve agreed to try our hands at an alliance.”

  Benny nodded a greeting, not offering his hand, as John sat down between Bobby and Ellen.

  “Explain to me why we’re negotiating, instead of wiping them out?” John growled at Bobby.

  “What did I just say?” Ellen snapped.

  “It’s fine,” Benny said. “So, we’ve covered trade and hospitality. What else?”

Kali leaned in close to Dean. She smelled of woodsmoke and chrysanthemums.

  “Nothing has been agreed yet,” she murmured in his ear. “If you want to kill him, now is the best time. The other two may even let you get away with it.”

  “I’m not looking for an excuse,” he snapped. “He’s still my dad.”

  She shrugged, unconcerned. “My father tried to drown me in a barrel when I was six. I turned him to ash.”

  “Fuck me.”

  “I will leave that to Castiel.”

  Dean’s jaw dropped. He stared at her, mind buzzing blankly. “Er…” She gave him a wickedly curving smile and he was forcefully reminded of why Gabriel liked her. “I haven’t, I mean, we aren’t…”

  “Obviously. One wonders why.”

  Dean drew a deep breath, fighting for at least a semblance of calm. “I’m... we’re different. I don’t know if… besides, there’s Meg.”

  Kali waved a dismissive hand. “Meg is not good for him.”

  “I just got him shot.”

  “True. But he followed you into that. Meg would have demanded he go with her.”

Dean was almost thankful for the abrupt rise in volume from the corner, John’s heavy fist on the table drawing their attention. He was shrugging Bobby off angrily. Ellen covered her eyes with one hand. Benny had his arms folded, some of the easy bonhomie draining from his expression.

  “God didn’t make you,” John spat.

  “I’m acquainted with the Scripture,” Benny said. “It clearly states that He made everything in Heaven and Earth. Everything. So when you hunt us, and torture us, and kill us, you’re hunting and torturing and killing His children. But then, this ain’t really about faith. Never was.”

  “It’s about fear,” Bobby cut in, sending a quick glance over his shoulder to where Kali was poised. She smiled at him, showing her teeth.

  “Same story throughout history,” Benny agreed. “Folks don’t like what they can’t understand.”

  “It’s a rational response,” Ellen said. “You’ve already said the two of you could take this place apart.”

  “So wouldn’t it be better to have us onside?” Benny said, shrugging.

  “Sense can’t hold a candle in the face of prejudice.” Bobby threw a look at John, still red-faced and glowering. “Maybe we should dial this back. Set up some kinda trading post at the edge of the forest, take it slow.”

 Benny nodded. “Works for me. But if Winchester Senior here shows up, we won’t. Konprann?”

  “Fair,” Ellen said quickly. “And if Dean isn’t there, we won’t either.”

  “Agreed,” Benny said before Dean could do more than open his mouth. “We’ll start with the day of the next full moon, see how it goes.” He stood up and held out a hand to Bobby and Ellen. “I think we’re done for the moment. Nice to meet you both.”

  “Hey,” John growled, lumbering upright. “We’re not done until I say so.”

  Dean and Kali stepped forward together, but Benny held up a hand. “World’s moving on. You don’t move with it, you get left behind and nobody gives two damns what you have to say then.”

  “You insolent -”

John swung a punch. Benny’s hand blurred, moving inhumanly fast to catch John’s fist before it got anywhere near his cheekbone. He held it for a long second, then squeezed. The crack was audible for a brief moment before John howled in pain, staggering. Benny let go and John curled over the injured limb, breathing harsh and fast. With a pleasant nod, Benny pushed past and headed for the door, Kali falling in behind him. Dean hesitated a moment, looking at his Elders.

  “You made your bed, boy,” Ellen said sharply. “No going back now.”

  “If you ain’t with them, this whole trade thing falls apart,” Benny added, his voice a little softer. “Best get.”

  “Dad?” Dean said, hesitant.

He didn’t know what he wanted. Maybe an indication of forgiveness or understanding; maybe just acknowledgement. But John didn’t so much as raise his head. Dean gave an abrupt nod, squared his shoulders, and followed Benny.


	31. Chapter 31

Sam was still in bed when Dean got back, but he wasn’t alone. Gabriel sat cross-legged with Sam’s ankles in his lap and a twinkle in his eye. Dean paused in the doorway, scrambling for words and finding none. The grin stretched wider across Gabriel’s face, a triangle of mirth that raised Dean’s hackles.

   “Hail the conquering hero,” he said, not letting go of Sam. “You’re not dead or stinking of smoke so I assume it went well.”

_(break my brother and I’ll break yours)_

    “Get off him,” Dean growled, looming over the end of the bed.

    Sam sat up, frowning. “Dean.”

    Gabriel slowly circled Sam’s ankle bone with his thumb. The smile became a smirk. “It’s cute you think you can make me do anything.”

    Sam rolled his eyes. “Gabriel, stop being provocative.”

    “Not something I can just turn off, Sammich.”

    “He’s not going to hurt me,” Sam told Dean earnestly.

    “Not unless you beg for it,” Gabriel murmured, and Sam went bright red.

Dean opened his mouth.

Dean closed his mouth.

_(he’s my little brother. He’s a consenting adult. It’s not an image of Sam I ever wanted. I was fine when he was with Jess. Gabriel is not Jess…)_

    “Kali,” he choked out.

    “Told you before, she’s fine with a threesome,” Gabriel said happily.

Dean was suddenly assaulted by a vision of writhing limbs, tastefully lit so the shadows suggested rather than revealed. He could smell sweat and sex and musky perfume, heady and promising. There was a soft sigh, full of pleasure. A back arched, light playing lovingly over the smooth curve of spine.

    “Gabriel, stop!”

Sam’s command cut through the vision and Dean was back in the treehouse, angry and confused and half-hard.

    Gabriel pouted sulkily. “I never get to have any fun.”

    “Stay the fuck out of my head,” Dean gasped, stumbling backwards.

    “Aptly put.”

    Sam sighed. “Not helping, Gabriel.”

    “Well, I don’t understand why he’s here cockblocking me when Cassie is the one that actually _wants_ to see him,” Gabriel said in a petulant tone.

    “Cas is awake?” Dean said quickly.

    “Last I checked. Awake and bed-bound.” Gabriel waggled his eyebrows, which Dean did his best to ignore. “Why don’t you run along and play nurse?”

    Dean glanced at Sam, who smiled. “I’m fine, honestly.”

    “You sure he hasn’t, I dunno, mind-controlled you?”

    “Dean, I’m the one person he can’t use his powers on.”

    “He likes me purely because of how awesome I am,” Gabriel added.

His words were flippant but his expression made Dean pause. It was soft, wondering. He looked at Sam like he was seeing something miraculous. It was just possible that he hadn’t come here as a threat. In which case, it was probably okay to leave Sam alone with him. Probably.

    “If you need me, you call me,” Dean said, tapping his temple.

    “Promise,” Sam said, and squirmed a little as Gabriel ran a nail along the sole of his foot.

    “Could you at least keep the PDAs until I’m out of the room,” Dean snapped at Gabriel.

    “Get gone, then,” Gabriel said with a shrug.

With as much grace as he could muster under the circumstances – which wasn’t much – Dean left them to it and headed upriver. His steps slowed as he approached Gabriel and Kali’s house, suddenly assailed by doubts. Did Castiel really want to see him, after the trouble he’d caused, or did Gabriel just say that to get him out of the way? Was Kali’s dismissal of Meg based on fact, or were they still a thing? Meg had sounded so confident, so sure of herself. And yes, Castiel had kissed him back at Bobby’s, but they’d been under pressure and anyway Dean had half-expected to be killed so maybe it’d just been a goodbye kiss.

He stalled in front of the front door and stared at the wood. Castiel was probably asleep again, he needed all the rest he could get in order to recover. Dean shouldn’t disturb him. And what if Meg was already here? Talk about awkward. It’d be best if he just waited until Castiel was back on his feet, and could come see Dean if he wanted to. Besides, there was still a ton of work to be done restoring Kali’s old house, he should really get on with that. It wouldn’t be habitable for another week at least and sharing the treehouse with Castiel after he’d made a pass at the guy and been rejected, well, that’d be way beyond awkward and firmly into unbearable. Best all round if he just left Castiel in peace for now. They could talk about that kiss later. Maybe.

He was already turning, weight on the balls of his feet, when the door swung open.

   “Hello, Dean,” Castiel said softly.

   Dean felt himself flush and ducked his head awkwardly, eyes on the ground. “Hey, Cas. How’re you feeling?”

   “Much better, thank you. My memories are a little hazy but I believe I have you and Sam to thank for that.”

    Dean shrugged a shoulder. “My fault you got hurt in the first place.”

    “It was my choice to follow you.”

    “I shouldn’t have let you.”

    “Dean,” Castiel said, his voice full of soft reproach and… was that amusement? Dean risked a glance and was held by those blue, gentle eyes. “I have a free will. You cannot stop me pursuing a course of action I desire, unless it violates your sovereignty.” He hesitated, then raised his right hand. One finger brushed the fullness of Dean’s lips, a fleeting lightness that stole his breath. “Should I have stopped?”

    “No,” Dean whispered, heart racing, palms sweating, dizzy and disbelieving.

    Castiel smiled sweetly and stepped back. “Then why don’t you come in?”

For one stretched moment in time, Dean couldn’t feel his feet to move them. That didn’t matter, though, because they responded without command, stumbling him forward into the dim warmth of the house.

It was the same size as Benny’s but, instead of having divided walls, there was just one room heated by a large stone fireplace. Furs and blankets were scattered across the floor and even hung from the walls, keeping the heat in. A couple of wooden trunks and a wide bed, partially obscured by a curtain of woven grass, were the only pieces of furniture.

Castiel closed the door behind him and went to sit by the fireplace, folding gracefully down into a nest of furs and cushions. He looked back over his shoulder with a smile, an invitation that Dean didn’t quite know how to answer because he wanted so badly not to get this wrong and couldn’t quite believe it was real. What if he was misreading? This could just be friendship, and gratitude for helping save Castiel’s life. He surreptitiously wiped his palms on his trousers and took an awkward seat on the edge of the nest.

    “So… didn't think you'd be awake yet,” he said, his voice coming out louder than he’d intended.

    Castiel gave him a long look and then stretched out, cat-like, over the furs. Dean swallowed as the firelight gilded his skin. “I recover quickly.”

    Dean cleared his throat and forced himself to look away. “Gabriel that good a nurse, huh?”

    Castiel chuckled, the sound pooling in Dean’s stomach like warm mead. “My brother has primarily been occupied with taking care of Sam. I was deeply disappointed to discover that Sam’s brother was unavailable to take care of me.”

    “I’m sorry I didn’t come say goodbye before we left. Benny was pushing to get to Lawrence before they had time to organise a hunting party.”

    “Dean.” Castiel sat up, the teasing note gone from his voice. “There is no need to apologize. Of course you put the safety of others first.” He reached out a hand and Dean flinched as it landed on a deep bruise. Castiel went very still, the heat from his touch leaching into Dean’s battered muscles. “Have you received any kind of medical treatment for the beating you took last night?” Castiel asked flatly. “Or did you walk to Lawrence and back again without sleep or pain relief?”

Dean didn’t know what to say to that, so he kept his eyes on the fire and said nothing. Castiel sighed, sounding annoyed, and shifted until he was on his knees behind Dean with both hands lightly kneading his shoulders.

   “I don’t approve of this tendency towards self-sacrifice,” he muttered.

Dean grunted a response but it came out as a low moan. Delicious warmth was seeping from Castiel’s fingers, spreading like honey, unlocking his muscles one by one. Each bruise and abrasion lit up and melted away. Castiel clicked his tongue over a few cracked ribs but Dean barely heard him. A sweet, heavy lassitude filled his body, slowing his thoughts and breathing. He drooped back into the curve of Castiel’s body and slipped gratefully into sleep.


	32. Chapter 32

He felt safe. That was unusual. He let himself indulge in it, drifting.

Someone was stroking his hair and humming softly. That went straight through unusual and ran smack into fucking bizarre.

He took stock, careful to stay still and keep his breathing steady. He was stretched out on his stomach, lying on something soft. A fire crackled nearby, its heat on his face. On the other side a solid warmth pressed up against him. The hand slid through his hair again and came to rest on his neck. He was achingly vulnerable.

  “I believe it is more traditional,” Castiel said, with a fondness that closed Dean’s throat, “to fall asleep on one’s partner _after_ sex.”

  Dean rolled up on one elbow to face him, caught on the edge of panic and want. “Cas…”

  “You are always beautiful.” Castiel ran a light hand over Dean’s shoulder, wide-pupiled eyes at odds with his calm voice. “But when you relax, you become breathtaking.”

Dean swallowed, feeling the world spin around him. Every inch of skin flushed hot and cold. It took all his courage to hold Castiel’s hungry gaze; it would take more than he had to look away.

  Slowly, giving him plenty of time to retreat, Castiel slid a hand up to cup his jaw. “I know your soul, Dean Winchester,” he whispered. “And you have held mine inside you.”

Need slammed into Dean. His palms needed Castiel’s skin under them; his mouth needed Castiel’s tongue. He wasn’t entirely certain if this was real or a dream, but he’d take it now and damn the consequences. Because Castiel was in reach, naked chest smooth and golden in the firelight, teeth pulling at the bow of his lower lip, and Dean was only – weakly, wantonly – human.

He pounced, surprising a delighted laugh out of Castiel as he pushed him flat, and kissed him with hunger spilling from his mouth. Castiel met him eagerly, drawing him into his wet warmth, tongue dancing, teasing, stroking and retreating. He bit Dean’s lip, sending lightning down his spine, and curled a knee up over his hip. Dean slid against him with a groan, hot gravity building rapidly in his groin. There was a dizzying whirl as Castiel rolled them, and then he was straddling Dean, hips shifting, and Dean could do nothing but dig his fingers into Castiel’s thighs and gasp.

  “I have wanted you since the day I healed your leg,” Castiel growled, planting both hands on Dean’s shoulders and holding him down. “A Normal – a hunter! – and I wanted you beyond reason.”

  “God, Cas, what you do to me.” Dean shuddered as he rubbed against a solid ridge in Castiel’s pants. “Made the world a whole new place, I ain’t been the same since.”

Castiel pushed up his shirt and latched onto a nipple, sucking, biting, making him arch helplessly, both hands buried in that mess of black hair.

  “Fuck, Cas!”

  “Every inch,” Castiel agreed huskily, raising his head. “But you are a little overdressed for the occasion.”

  Dean shoved. “So let me up, you idiot.”

He struggled to his feet, flinging his shirt across the room, and hopped out of his pants. When he straightened up Castiel was standing in front of the fire, watching him open-mouthed, gloriously naked. Dean held still for a moment, letting the tension settle and build into something new, slower and deeper, a river rather than a waterfall. Castiel was worth taking the time to look at. Light and shadow slipped over the curve of his muscled shoulders and down his chest in a mesmerising shift of patterns. They narrowed to slender hips, and a patch of dark hair at the base of a blood-hard cock, smooth and beautiful, wet-tipped. The weight in Dean’s groin intensified as his own stiffened in response. He looked up to Castiel’s flushed face.

  “Breathtaking,” Castiel said quietly and held out a hand.

This kiss was a promise, not a desperate declaration. Hands slid over warm skin, caressing instead of clutching. Their lips met, soft and teasing, nibbling at ears, jawlines, necks. Dean sank into the rhythm of give and receive, the simple pleasure of touch and the intoxication of being wanted. But the slower pace allowed room for doubt to creep back into the edges of his thoughts. Castiel must have sensed him faltering because he pulled back a little, both hands still cupping Dean’s face.

  “What is it?”

  Dean looked aside, aching and nervous. “So, just to be totally, completely clear… you and Meg ain’t…?”

  “Ah, is that what she said to you? No, not for some time now. Everything was a fight, with her, in which someone had to lose. Whereas you…” Castiel slid one palm slowly down Dean’s neck and chest, building a bow-wave of delicious tension. “You can fight when you must but it is not what you desire.”

  Dean shuddered, eyes stuttering closed, as clever fingers tapped out a beat at the crease of his thigh. “Cas…”

  “You want to be cared for,” Castiel said huskily, and licked a line behind his ear. “This is your great secret, the one you fear so much: your need to be cherished.”

  “I’m not weak,” Dean managed.

  “Oh, Dean. To love takes so much more strength.”

Castiel kissed him, close-mouthed and sweet, pressing tenderness into his brow, his mouth, his collar-bone. Then the body heat vanished and he opened his eyes. Castiel was kneeling in front of him, eyes glimmering with lust, lips parted.

  “Say yes, Dean,” he whispered, hands clenched at his sides. “Let me take care of you.”

Castiel was right, Dean realised faintly. It was such a little word but it grew spikes in his chest. This was far from the first time he’d been sucked off, but with this man it meant something different. Something dangerous. And oh fuck, he wanted it, more than breathing, he couldn’t imagine the next few minutes without it, but it would change things. It would change him, make him vulnerable, lay him open to a hurt that went deeper than mere physicality. There was no coming back from that. Because God help him, but he loved.

Castiel was wrong. It didn’t take strength to love. That came whether he was strong or weak or anything in between. It took strength to say it.

  “Yes,” he choked instead. “Anything you want. Please.”

And then he lost all capacity to say anything because Castiel’s mouth was on him and the tender heat of it washed over him like a tip tide, swallowing him down, down, tongue flicking over the tip of his cock in little pulses of pleasure, tasting him, rising and falling as his need built. His fingers wound into Castiel’s hair, wrapping themselves in silk, and the answering moan shuddered through both of them in a wave of vibration. Castiel’s hands slid up around the backs of his thighs and kneaded his ass, spreading him. They crept tantalisingly closer to his cleft and he clenched with want, already imagining the deeper touch. When one finger finally slipped between his cheeks, he couldn’t stop his hips from jerking and Castiel’s mouth took him all in at once, down to the root, mouth wet and red and stretched obscenely around his cock. The wave gathered over his straining body.

  Castiel pulled off. “Not yet.”

  The promise of release receded, leaving Dean panting. “Cock-tease.”

  “Anything I want, remember?” Castiel said with a slow smile. “And what I want is you on your hands and knees so I can lick you open, slow and easy, before fucking you until the only word you remember is my name. Then, my hunter… then you may come.”

Dean stared at him, pulse thudding painfully in his throat. Not even in his fantasies - of which there’d been more than he was willing to admit - had soft-spoken, deep-eyed Castiel been this blunt. His cock jerked, growing painfully hard. He turned around so fast he nearly caught his feet in the furs, and got down on all fours with more speed than grace.

  “So good for me,” Castiel murmured, skimming a light hand over his lower back. “So perfect.”

The words wrapped themselves around Dean’s throat and squeezed until he moaned, head drooping. Castiel paused for a moment, before gripping both hips and leaning over to mouth hotly against his spine.

  “You are perfect, Dean, every inch of you is a miracle waiting to be gloried in.”

Dean writhed, agonised and needy, limbs trembling, belly filling with tension. Castiel palmed his cheeks again, stroking circles into the sensitive skin, and shifted. His tongue swept along the taint and Dean cried out, pleasure flooding his senses. The sensation dipped lower, finding his hole, dancing and swirling over the furled muscle, the tip of it massaging until it could push inside. Dean was left blind and gasping, every sense strained on Castiel’s mouth as he lapped greedily, spreading Dean wide and wet and wanting. Then that skilled tongue was gone and a finger slid sweetly into him, filling an emptiness he’d only dimly been aware of. Castiel’s other hand reached between his legs and cupped his balls, massaging gently. He was held, surrounded, and it felt so good. A soft-edged warmth bloomed in his chest.

Then Castiel crooked his finger and fire swept over him, lighting up his skin and setting every nerve ablaze. His arms gave out and he landed on his elbows, head ringing.

  “God, your voice,” Castiel growled behind him. “Do you have any idea what you sound like? I want to wring every note from you, I want to know I made you sing like that.”

  Dean dragged in a steadying breath, fighting for a shred of composure. “Possessive bastard.”

  Castiel eased another finger in and he bit back a groan around the pleasurable stretch. “I’d possess every part you offered me,” Castiel said, and there was a ragged edge to his voice now. “You already have all of mine.”

  “Cas…”

He couldn’t say it, still couldn’t, so he rocked backwards, fucking himself open on Castiel’s fingers as if, somehow, pushing him deep enough would let him see the word instead. There was a moment of discomfort before he brushed against that sweet spot again, and Dean fell open and easy and shivering around the whiteness of it in his head.

  “Oh…” Castiel breathed, letting go of his balls to stroke down his thigh. “Let go for me, so good, so beautiful, I’ve got you.”

Dean thrust back again but it wasn’t enough, he needed more, wanted to beg for it but couldn’t line the words up straight. Castiel seemed to get the message though. His free hand vanished for a moment and then a cool liquid trickled down Dean’s crack. He pushed the oil in, slicking Dean up, making him wet and sloppy with it. When the tip of Castiel’s cock breached him, it was a slow slide of heat and fullness and tension. It wasn’t deep, not nearly deep enough, before Castiel pulled back and then eased in again, rocking his way into Dean’s body in gentle fractions that ruthlessly stole air and reason. Dean whined, desperate, but Castiel held him steady and continued to take time over the opening of his body, until at last their hips were flush and Dean was so full he could barely breath, and the pressure continued to build, excruciating and needful, sending shivers through his skin and static across his thoughts.

  “Dean,” Castiel said, gasping. “Oh God, you’re so tight, so hot and tight and perfect, please, I need, I have to…”

He began to move, fucking into Dean in long sure strokes that held him pinned, run through over and over, filling him up, until there was nowhere in the world to exist except the space between Castiel’s hands and cock, the hot slide, the building pressure, fingers digging into his hips hard enough to mark, claiming him, wanting him. Castiel’s voice wrapped around his body, panting praise that crept into every other inch until he was floating, wrapped in warmth, surrendered to the care of his lover. Then Castiel moved and he was on fire again, crying out as the lightning punched through him, shaking with urgent need, surging back to take Castiel harder, deeper, desperate for every inch, eager and panting for Castiel to come inside him, fiercely elated at the hot spill that slicked his passage. Castiel’s hand was on his cock, tight and swift, a filthy twist at the tip and he was coming hard, shouting as light blazed through his mind, his body, heart racing as it strained towards the man who held him close and pressed gentling kisses into his skin.

Castiel eased him down onto the furs and he drifted blissfully as his brain slowly regrouped. He roused when Castiel returned with a damp cloth and carefully wiped him clean. He pulled him into a long kiss, soft lipped and tender, stretched out next to each other as the fire dried their sweat. But there was something trapped in his chest. He pulled away to look at Castiel’s eyes, deep and peaceful and strong enough for them both.

  “I love you.”

In the end, it was the easiest thing in the world to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter, y'all!


	33. Epilogue

Dean waited with Benny at the edge of the forest, squinting against the midday sun as they watched the gaggle of people from Lawrence head towards them. Trade goods were piled at their feet - mostly candles, mead and fresh fish. Dean had finally met the elusive Cain whilst they were putting stuff together. The dude was intense but Dean had rather liked him. Not least because he’d agreed to show Dean how to make mead sometime.

Jo came bounding up to them first and gave Dean an unrestrained hug.

  “Oof, get off’f me, you maniac!”

  She grinned, stepped back and held out a hand to Benny. “You must be the guy Mom was talking about. The one with the drink I apparently have to try.”

Dean made introductions whilst Bobby and Cesar caught up and put down their bundles with a sigh. Cesar eyed the final fading marks of Dean’s bruises warily.

  “No offence taken, I hope?”

  Dean shrugged. “If I remember right, I broke your nose first.”

  Cesar laughed and gave an exaggerated wince. “Yeah, you did. So we’re square?”

  “Sure. Don’t make sense to come to this with any old scores we can wipe off.” He looked down at their goods. “What you got?”

  Bobby nudged one of the bundles with his foot. “Wool, which is heavier than it oughta be. Cheese, some dried herbs.”

  “Oh, thank fuck. Seriously, stew without herbs gets old real fast. Can you bring cuttings next time? I’mma start a garden.” 

  Jo stuck a finger in her ear. “Think I’m going deaf. I could’ve sworn I just heard you say you’re becoming a gardener.”

  “Swords into plowshares, sugar,” Benny said with an easy smile. “Ain’t that what this little exercise is about?”

  Suddenly Bobby frowned at Dean’s hands. “You lost your momma’s ring, boy?”

  Dean felt the heat in his cheeks and coughed awkwardly to clear his throat. “Not lost. Given.”

  “Oh my God,” Jo said, after a moment, eyes going wide. “Dean Winchester. I don’t believe it.”

  “Shut up,” he snapped, rubbing the back of his neck. 

  Bobby folded his arms. “This’d be that Cas fella, I’m guessing.”

  “Castiel. Yeah.” Dean risked a look at his face. “You ain’t pissed?”

  “I will be if you’re already hitched and didn’t invite me to the party.” 

  Dean laughed with relief and pulled the old man into a brief hug. “I know better than that.”

  “I’m real pleased for you,” Bobby said gruffly into his ear. “You been lonely too long.”

  “What’re you talking about?” Jo said, bouncing up and down waiting for her turn to hug. “He’s always had Sam.”

  “Ain’t quite the same,” Bobby said, with a glance at Dean. “You want I should tell John?”

  Dean shrugged, trying not to care. Almost succeeding. “He ain’t invited unless he can be civil to Cas in his own home. Which, I should warn you now, Bobby, is a bit of a climb.”

  Bobby scowled at him. “The day I can’t walk up a hill is the day you put me out to grass.”

  Dean pictured Bobby on the rope ladder and decided right then not to give any more warnings. That was a joke worth waiting to see in action. 

  “Where is Sam, anyway?” Jo asked, looking around as if expecting him to materialise out of thin air.

  “He’s being taught better control of his powers, he’s fine. Sent his love.”

  “This place suits you,” Cesar said abruptly. “You are much more relaxed about everything.”

Dean thought of Lawrence - the house full of tension and pain, the friends he always had to hide things from, the life that was nothing but duty and endurance. He thought about Sammy, who walked tall under the trees, no longer afraid. He thought about Castiel, who had seen his soul and loved him anyway. He smiled at Cesar, knowing the hunter would tell others about him and hoping the story would help this cooperation to work, to be the start of something bigger.

  “Out here, I’m free.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap, people! A happy wrap, no less - I feel like I'm growing as a person. So much for a quick 15k story. :-D I do have thoughts on a sequel, but I should really write my dissertation first before jumping into an epic story of love and war and gardening. Maybe for Christmas.
> 
> Yeah, I can totally hold out until then.
> 
> Totally.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider giving kudos. It makes writers happy. :-)


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